


Angel Put Aside For Me

by treefrogie84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Found Families, Jessica Moore Lives, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-17 17:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Four years ago, Sam Winchester boarded a bus headed for Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He never arrived. Two weeks later, Sam Browning arrived at Stanford University in California and was absorbed into his new life.





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the rough draft of this thing nearly three years ago, as my first long fic. Actually, it’s my first fic that wasn’t a few hundred words written in a depression funk since high school. And then it sat, unedited and ignored, for nearly two years, because the amount of work it was going to take to fix it was beyond my comprehension at the time. It’s still beyond my comprehension, but after several rounds of editing, I’m letting it go. 
> 
> Many many thanks to: SolsticeKitten aka FandomCoworker who, despite not reading fanfic, allowed me to talk her into beta-ing this for the low low cost of a bottle of wine; [mellifuu](https://mellifuu.tumblr.com/) who created amazing art (no really! [Go check it out!](https://mellifuu.tumblr.com/post/182443826000/heres-the-art-i-did-for-treefrogie84s-awesome)); and the discord crews of [WWM](https://www.pillowfort.io/community/Weekend%20Writing%20Marathon), Mediocre Meta, and All SPN Ships

****

**Then**

_Independence, Missouri, July 2001_

It’s nearly one in the morning when Dean turns into the parking lot of their current shitty apartment. Sam chatters wildly about the graphics and random dinosaurs in Jurassic Park III. He falls silent for a brief moment when he sees Dad's truck sitting in their normal spot. Tensing up, he mutters, “He’s been gone for weeks.”

Dean’s good mood evaporates. “Can you not? Jesus Christ, just… wait until morning before starting a fight with him.” They’d been having a good evening, of course Dad would show up and ruin it.

“I’ll keep my temper if he keeps his,” Sam says sullenly, crossing his arms across his chest. “What the hell is he doing here anyway?”

Dean rubs a hand down his face before sighing, “I don’t know, he didn’t tell me he was coming. Probably just wants to check in or something.” Hopefully, Dad’ll be gone in the morning and they’ll be able to just keep on.

He knows better than to voice his opinion. Neither Sam nor Dad want it, and will use it as proof that he’s siding with the other. What he _actually_ wants is for them to stop fighting for five fucking minutes, not that it fucking matters.

Following Sam up the rickety stairs, Dean takes a deep breath before walking into the apartment. Any hope that this was just a check-in disappears when he sees Dad’s duffle next to the couch, the gun bag dropped on the kitchen table, waiting for someone (Dean) to check and clean them. He wouldn’t have brought those in if he was planning on being gone by morning.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Dad turns on them the moment the door is closed, dropping his beer bottle on the floor by the sagging recliner as he pushes himself to his feet. “I could have been hurt, and you two out doing God knows what.”

Sam ignores him, storming through the living room towards the back the apartment.

Dean counts the empties by the chair before responding, “We went to the movies, Dad. That’s it.”

“You should have been here. Not fucking around.” Dad stomps off, looking for something else to pick at. “Whatever. Pack up your shit. We’re leaving.”

“What?” It’s one in the fucking morning, there’s no way Dad can expect them to--

“Sam’s not in school anymore, there’s no reason to keep paying for an apartment. Now _pack up your shit_.”

Dean’s tired enough to contemplate arguing-- it won’t end well, but tonight is ruined anyway, what’s a few bruises on top of it-- when he’s distracted by Sam coming back from where ever in the hell he’s been.

“No.” He flings something

“What?” Dad’s voice is viper quiet. “Are you questioning me?”

Sam scoffs. “I’m not questioning. I’m _refusing_. You two want to run around playing vigilante and get yourselves killed? Go right on ahead. But I’m out.”

“The hell are you talking about, boy? What are you going to do instead, join the military? Go play toy soldier against _people_?”

Dean sucks in a breath as he figures it out. Sam’s been sullen since January, only brightening up over the last month or so. He’d thought it was staying in one place for a couple of months, but no. Sam found the exit he’s been looking for.

“College, Dad. I’m going to college.”

Dean huffs quietly, trying to avoid drawing attention. In any other family, that’d be enough. First kid to go to college is supposed to be a good thing. Not in this family though, not when Dad came home looking for something to be pissed off about. Dean might be able to push the explosion off until morning, but no longer.

This is the big one, the final fracture to his tiny family. He thought it would hurt more.

Dad stares at Sam like he’s an alien-- or a monster to hunt-- before picking up the bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter. “Like hell you are. I kept a fucking roof over your head for eighteen years, rearranged my life to make sure you could get your precious diploma, let _good_ men die because you boys needed me at home. For once in your life, you’re going to do what you’re told when you’re told. Get packed up. We’re leaving. _Now_.”

Sam stands his ground for a moment longer before turning on his heel and stalking back to the bedroom, muttering.

Dad nails Dean in place with a glare, “I left you in charge. How the fuck did he get this idea into his head?”

“Dad, I--” Dean breaks off at Dad’s angry gesture, whiskey splashing out of the bottle.

“You’ve both got fifteen minutes. Anything not in the cars by then gets left behind. Do you understand me?”

Dean sucks in a breath before nodding, “Yes, sir.” They’ve been home for less than ten minutes, Dean’s said less than a dozen words, and his entire life has exploded.

Grinding his teeth, he heads back to the bedroom he shares with Sam. There’s nothing to be done for it now. The only thing to do is ride it out until Dad calms down. It’s not like Sam’s going to be around to watch the fallout.

Sam’s angrily slamming things into his duffle, not even wrapping the few keepsakes against breakage.

Pulling the only framed photo they have of Mom back out, Dean carefully wraps it in a t-shirt before tucking it carefully into one of the interior pockets. “You couldn’t have waited until he was sober? Or told me before springing it on him?” He stares at the bookcase, running a light finger of the books they’ve managed to keep together. Pulling out his beat up copy of _Cat’s Cradle_ , he checks that his cash reserve is still tucked into the back cover, before tucking it into Sam’s bag.

It’s not much, but it’s the only ‘going to college’ present the kid’s going to get.

“Pack your own shit, Dean,” Sam snarls. “I don’t need you to tell me the same fucking thing, alright? I don’t need college, hell, I didn’t _need_ to graduate high school.” He snorts, “I mean, I’m doing better than you did, I graduated, but if I was a good son, I wouldn’t want anything more.”

Dean turns from the bookcase where he’d been trying to decide which books he didn’t need anymore-- their collection has grown over the past ten months, to the point where it takes up an entire shelf-- to stare incredulously at Sam. “Right. I don’t--” he sighs. “What was your plan here, Sam? To take off for work one day and just never come back?” His fingers are itching to snatch back the photo, the book, but he ignores it.

He has a feeling he’s going to be doing that a lot in the future, too exhausted to fight any more. Ignore everything, they’ve won.

Blowing out another sigh, Dean yanks open Sam’s dresser drawer, roughly folding the shirts and flannels and tucking them into Sam’s bag.

They work silently for a while, Sam still slamming things around like he’s being personally victimized while Dean carefully repacks it all, tucking clothes into the duffle and the books and few breakables into Sam’s backpack. He pauses over the laptop-- it’s the only computer they have between the three of them-- before packing it too. He can replace it a lot easier than Sam will be able to.

Sam has his head up his ass enough to not notice, which doesn’t surprise Dean at all. That’s how Sam’s been for years now.

By the time they’re done, Dad’s drunken snores are echoing down the short hallway. He’s clearly not going anywhere else tonight.

Dean watches as Sam checks the last zipper on his backpack-- he should have known this was coming, replaced it, this one has been falling apart for three years now-- before shouldering his duffle. “I can’t stay, Dean,” he says quietly, like he’s afraid Dad’s going to wake up.

“I know. You got everything you need?” Once Sam nods, Dean holds his hand out for the backpack, “Alright. There’s a three am bus to Des Moines. You can go from there to wherever you’re going.” He swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Dean--”

“Don’t,” Dean cuts him off. “Just get in the car.”

They tiptoe past John in the recliner, carefully locking the door behind them for the short drive to the bus station. Dean’s guilt is already starting to eat him alive, but there’s nothing else he can do.

He leans against the Impala, waiting, while the buses come and go. His last glance of Sam is his wide shoulders twisting to climb onto the bus.


	2. Chapter 1

_Palo Alto, California, April 2006_

 

The arrival of Jess's graduation announcements is an _event_. She whoops when she sees the box, and tears it open with almost manic glee.

“You know that doesn’t mean you’re done, right?” Sam teases as he slides behind her on the couch and rests his chin on her shoulder.

“Hush your lying mouth.” She passes him the box and starts clearing space on their little table so that she can start fill them in. After a moment, she pauses, twisting around to look at him. “I can do this later,” she says, pen still in hand.

“It’s fine.”

She makes a face, but takes him at his word. Mostly. They know each other too well; she keeps catching him looking at the stack, he keeps catching her looking back at him. He puts up with it with good grace for a couple episodes of West Wing before he gets sick of it and nabs an envelope and announcement from the pile. “If I send this to my uncle, will you stop looking at me like my dog died?”

Jess shrugs, “Will you at least give him a phone number or something? It’s not right, your family cutting off ties.”

“Yeah, just…” he trails off, not sure how to explain. “Uncle Bobby’s probably the only one who’d care anyway.”

Jess headbutts his shoulder as she reaches around him for the DVD remote, switching to the second disk of West Wing. “You might even, like, invite him to graduation. I’m sure Mom and Dad won’t mind another person at dinner.”

Sam grunts in acknowledgement. He will do no such thing. He’s not talked to Bobby since he walked out on Dean and Dad. He’s not talked to anyone in the past four years. He’ll send an announcement to Bobby, and maybe they’ll hear secondhand. Or maybe not. It’s not like Dad and Bobby were talking when he ran off, and Dean… well, Dean goes where Dad does.

He misses them sometimes. He cut ties hard: he mailed his phone to Bobby, and opted to keep his personal information private when he registered his freshman year. Even if he hadn’t changed his name, it would be hard for them to find him.

It’s weird when everyone seems to have brothers and sisters, family holidays, traditions, and he’s got… well, him. But then he sees some guy hustling pool at the gang’s favorite bar (he always hustles him right back, sends him on his way) or he and Jess misjudge how long until payday versus when the cable bill was due and they’re staring at a week of grilled cheese and canned soup (never ramen, never mac and cheese with ketchup), and he realizes. This life, even if he occasionally misses Bobby, even if he (still) wants to call Dean almost every week? It’s worth the sacrifice.

He fills out one envelope, scribbles his phone number and a short note on the back of the announcement, carries it with him for almost a week before he finally drops it into a mailbox.

* * *

 

A couple weeks later, he gets out of a final to find a missed call.

He’s not expecting any phone calls from New Orleans, and there’s no voicemail, but he calls back anyway on the off-chance it’s important.

“Winchester.”

Sam can’t speak, the shock of hearing Dean’s voice for the first time in years gluing his mouth closed. He stays silent until it’s almost too late, listening to the bar noises in the background, until Dean barks out an annoyed “Hello?” followed by, “Dammit, I’m hanging up.”

“Wait,” Sam manages to croak out, “Dean? It’s Sam.”

“Sammy?” Dean sounds almost relieved. “Oh thank Christ. Sammy.”

“Yeah. It’s me. What’s going on?” Sam pushes through the crowd at the entrance to the hall, students for the next group filing in as his class files out. Not for the first time, Sam sends silent prayers of thanks to the heavens for a broad build and long legs.

“Fuck. I can barely hear you. Are you someplace you can talk? I know you didn’t want anything to do with us, but…” There’s some loud cheering in the background, “Hold on a sec,” The phone gets muffled, but Sam can still hear “Hey Jo, can can you watch the bar for a moment?” A few seconds of shuffling and Dean’s back, much clearer, “Sorry about that. Anyway, can you talk?”

Sam’s gotten out of the building, still clutching his phone to his ear. “Yeah, what’s up?” He swerves around the perpetual hacky-sack game on the corner and starts for the far side of campus. The silence on Dean’s end lasts a beat too long, “Dean? You still there? What’s going on?”

“It’s bad, Sammy.” Sam can hear the worry in Dean’s voice. Whatever it is, he’s never seen or heard Dean like this. “Dad’s missing. And the Demon, the one that killed Mom? We’re tracking signs all over the country that match his pattern. I’m pretty sure he’s searching for you.”

Sam stops dead in his tracks. This is not a conversation he can have while trudging home, and certainly not one he wants to have with Jess around. “Dean, what the hell are you talking about? Demons don’t _want_ anything. They just make chaos and misery. They definitely don’t track survivors twenty some-odd years later. So you’re freaking out over this because… why? Because Dad’s missing? It’s not like that’s unusual.”

“Sam…”

“Dad going missing just means he’s in a cabin somewhere having some quality time with his buddies, Jose and Jack.” Sam scoffs as he makes his way over to one of the benches lining the Quad, “The man spent twenty years either ditching us or treating us like Marines.”

“Sammy, Dad’s been missing for almost a year. Look,” he says, “I get it. You wanted out. You got out. You even changed your damn name _apparently_ , because I couldn’t find you. And I looked, believe me. Christ, I had no idea you were still alive until I saw Bobby last week. But something is systematically hunting down every Sam Winchester and Campbell in the country and leaving only bodies behind.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a Winchester?” Sam stands back up and resumes walking home. He can feel a headache like the tide coming in, slow and inexorable, and he’d rather be home with their ratty couch and Jess's stress baking when it hits. “Dean, I’ve got a good life here, and I’m not going to give it up just because a nightmare from our past is suddenly rearing its head.”

The line is silent just long enough for Sam to worry that the call has dropped, and he’s already pulling it away from his ear to check when he hears Dean again.

“Ok, Sammy. I, uh, get what you’re telling me.” Dean’s voice is soft. Resigned. “You stay safe and… I guess I’ll take care of it.”

“Dean…” He sighs and glares upward, as if the sky might have some answer for him. He’s missed his brother, even if he didn’t miss hunting or anything that went along with it. “That’s-- I just don’t want to go back to hunting. Jess and I are really serious. I can’t drag her into this.” Sam can hear Dean perk up at the mention of Jess… or maybe that was the clink of the shot glass. “Look, dude. The address on the announcement is ours, the ceremony is at nine on Saturday. I want you to meet Jess.” He sighs in relief as he nears his front door, and with it, some promise of normalcy.

“Yeah, Sammy. I can be there. If I leave in the morning, I can be there by midday Friday. I don’t have anything else lined up.”

“Ok. Call me when you get close,” he says as he unlocks the door to his and Jess's apartment. “Parking can be kinda tricky. I’ll see you then.”

Jess looks up at him with a puzzled look on her face, catching the last. He needs to explain things to her, but the headache is crashing over him and these nightmare migraines still knock him on his ass.

So he just collapses onto the couch, face down into Jess's lap.

“Who were you talking to?” She asks, her fingers rubbing the back of his head and neck.

“Yeah.” He groans as she moves one hand to his back, gently running her nails in circles. “I guess Uncle Bobby told my brother about graduation. And he wants to come. Or at least, meet you and catch up a bit.”

“That’s great! I’ll ask my parents to add another couple seats to the dinner reservations. Have you taken anything for the headache?” He shakes his head as best he can while still face planted. “Go lie down. I’ll bring you something in a few minutes. You rest for a while, maybe keep this one to just a headache instead a migraine.”

* * *

 

_The explosion happens when they’re less than a block away from the restaurant. Suddenly the sky is orange and red, filled with acrid smoke that burns his lungs, coughing as he runs towards the fire. He can see the crowd out front, why is everyone in the way, why is no one coming out?_

_He’s running and suddenly he’s there, he can see the people inside pounding on the door, it’s locked, it shouldn’t be locked. He’s beating on the door too, surely by now the glass should be breaking. He steps back, trying to get enough room to kick the door. Jess's dad is inside, they must have gotten here faster, waiting inside out of the rain. No, he can’t-- He’s gotta get her parents out._

_Dean’s beside him now, looking like he wants to pull his gun, shoot the glass, break it so people can get out. But his gun’s in the trunk, he left it behind because Sam asked him to, because Sam wanted his brother to get along with his future in-laws and now they have nothing to break the glass with. They can see the smoke filling the main room, see people falling to the floor. No door should be able to withstand the amount of force they’re putting on it, he’s broken down steel front doors with less effort than this, but the glass won’t break and the door frame won’t bend and he can see the people dying and…_

Jess’s hand is on his shoulder, clearly frightened, “Sam, _Sam_. Wake up! Whatever it is, it’s just a dream. Wake up, Sam.”

And he’s gasping for air like he just sprinted a mile, but Jess is right here, next to him, safe. She’s safe, her parents asleep in their bed, Dean’s still… wherever he is. It was a nightmare, not real. Sam rolls over, tugging Jess closer to him so he can bury his face in her hip. “They’re getting worse, aren’t they?” He mumbles and there’s no way she can hear him clearly, but they’ve had this conversation before.

“Sam, I don’t know what’s causing these nightmares, but between these and the migraines, you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. Promise me you’ll go back to therapy once law school starts.” Even as she’s lecturing him, her nails gently scratch his head, soothing away the headache and stress.

“I’ll try to set up an appointment between finals tomorrow. Maybe someone else can figure out what the hell is wrong with me.”

She hmms, turning back to her Manufacturing Methods textbook. He should get up, do the same, he has two finals tomorrow and he’s not where he wants to be on his review for his history class. But he’s so tired and Jess keeps doing that thing with her nails and… yeah. Sleep is better. He cuddles closer, letting closeness and familiarity relax him back to unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 2

Sam’s phone buzzes halfway across the coffee table behind him before he can reach it, dancing out of his reach and going to voicemail before he can snatch it up. He doesn’t bother to check the caller ID-- there’s only one person who should be calling-- before hitting the number to call back.

It rings twice and there’s a pause on the other end before Dean’s voice, laughing, comes on the line, “Browning? That's the best you could come up with, Sammy?”

Sam huffs a laugh, “Alec needed something to start with, I went the easy route. Otherwise, I would have ended up with something unforgivably nerdy.”

“Alec?” Dean sounds distracted. “Do I know them?”

“Hacker buddy of mine, met him that year we were in Chicago? I’m not sure you ever actually met him.”

“Sure, whatever. Where should I park?”

“Yeah, Jess and I don’t use our spot, so there should be one in the alley behind the building. Spot forty-five.”

“Alright. Be there soon.”

The call ends abruptly, leaving Sam to survey the living room blankly.

What was he thinking inviting Dean here? It’s not that he thinks Dean means him ill, or even that whatever has Dean in such a panic will follow him. It’s just… he’s created a good life here as a disowned orphan with no one to answer to.

Sam’s pretty sure he can withstand a demand to leave all this behind, leave Jess behind, and return to hunting now that they’ve found him. But if Dean just wants to stay in contact? Isn’t that just a more insidious way to get him hunting again?

There’s a reason he changed his name and cut off all contact with everyone when he left. Sam Browning was born specifically to avoid the destiny that Sam Winchester couldn’t.

 

* * *

 

Jess and Dean bond as soon as she walks in the door. First over teasing Sam and then, as soon as Dean sees the textbook she drops on the counter, over some material engineering thing-- heat tolerance in engine blocks?-- that flies completely over Sam’s head. He contents himself with watching them and grabbing them all beers from the fridge while they argue about steel and aluminum.

To anyone who doesn’t know him, Dean appears perfectly at ease-- he’s claimed the corner of the couch, angled towards Jess at the other end while Sam’s in the armchair, drawing figures on the notepad Jess had pulled out to illustrate some point or another-- but there’s a tension in his shoulders Sam can’t unsee. Not with Dean’s warning about the demon sitting like a brick between them. Dean’s fingers keep twitching towards the sharpie on the coffee table, splitting his attention between the window and the door.

They’ve been chatting about inconsequentials for a couple hours when Brady arrives to take Jess to pick up her parents at the airport. The moment Jess is out the door, Sam turns to his brother, “Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

Dean sits forward. “Buddy of mine called right before I got here. The demon signs we’ve been tracking have disappeared.”

Sam snorts, “So what? He did whatever he was planning and went back to Hell. I wanted you to come support me, not bring your paranoia into my life.”

“Will you listen to me for a fucking moment?” Dean pauses before continuing, “I _know_ you want nothing to do with hunting or me. But I’m dead certain that this demon is coming after you specifically.”

Sam leans against the bar separating the living room from the kitchen. “Dad told me when I left that if I was going to get out, I should stay gone. And you backed him up. Where was this concern for my well being then? Or before then, when I was applying to schools and you didn’t want to hear about it? Dammit, Dean, I’ve been gone for years. Why is it so important _now_?”

“I…Is that what you thought? That I was backing Dad?” Dean swallows roughly. “I put you on a bus to get you out of Dad’s line of fire with a couple hundred bucks and a shitty copy of _Cat’s Cradle_ to get you through. And then you disappeared. Why is this so important now? Because I couldn’t fucking find you for four goddamn years, Sam!” Dean explodes, jumping to his feet and pacing. “Because when I tried to call you three days later to apologize, to work out a way to get you to school, I got fucking Bobby. This is the first chance I’ve had to tell you.” Dean starts collapsing in on himself, the anger draining away. “I’m telling you now because I finally found you. You’re a Winchester, and should help put this bastard down.”

“I’ve not been a Winchester in years and I was never good enough for you and Dad anyway. Sam Winchester disappeared. Sam Browning has nothing to do with demons, hunting or anything of the sort.”

“Sam…”

“No. I will not rejoin your stupid mission. If you’re only here to gather the troops before restarting your war, you might as well get out. I’ll make your excuses to Jess.”

The buzzing of Sam’s phone manages to penetrate the bitter fog he’s enveloped in. He yanks it out of his pocket. “What?”

“So… reunion with your brother is going well then?” Jess asks, laughing.

“Shit. Sorry.” Sam stammers, “Not really. But yelling is part of the family charm. What’s up?” He watches Dean pull out his phone, check something, and head towards the kitchen.

“We’ve picked up Mom and Dad, we’re going to drop them off at their hotel and should be home shortly after that. Do you need me to steer clear until dinner?”

“Nah, come on home. I’m sure your parents had a long day.” Dean’s behind him, searching for something.

“Ok, I’ll be home in about an hour or so then.” Jess hangs up.

Sam rounds the corner into the kitchen, “Dude, what the hell are you looking for?”

Dean peers around the cabinet door, “Salt. And we need to double check your wards. Ash just texted, all the demon’s signs are showing up again. Most of them within thirty minutes drive of here.”

Sam sighs, abruptly tired of fighting something he’s going to lose. “Fine, whatever. Salt is on the top shelf next to the fridge, markers in the coffee table drawer. Jess will be home in about an hour, try to keep it low key. I’m going to shower and change for dinner. You did bring a suit, right?”

Dean stops to stare at him, “You’re going to just ignore that the demon is here? This is kinda more important than impressing your in-laws.”

“No, Dean, it’s not more important. It’s different. Your life, not mine, remember? My life does not revolve around which monster I’m killing this week or which credit card company I’m scamming this month.” Dean starts to retort, but Sam cuts him off, “I. Do. Not. Care. About demon signs, monsters that go bump in the night, whatever weird thing is happening now. Important dinner with Jess's parents? That I care about.”

Dean sighs, visibly admitting defeat. “Fine. My suit’s downstairs. I’ll change once I’ve redone your wards.”

“You’re being paranoid. No one knows I’m here except you and Bobby.”

Jess comes flying in a bit later, already fretting about making their reservation at the restaurant. Sam stands out of her way, used to her whirlwind of activity when she’s running behind. She greets him with a kiss before forcibly ejecting him from the bathroom so she can shower and get changed.

The wards Dean’s put up-- salt and cat’s eyes shells, a devil’s trap-- are more obvious than the ones Sam put up when they moved in, and Sam’s not entirely certain how he’s going to explain the mess to Jess. She’s used to a certain level of weirdness-- some things just can’t be hidden, and he’s never let them be fully unprotected-- but she’s never had to deal with Winchester full lock-down.

Sam wants to believe that Dean is being overly cautious, but it’s been a long time since he’s seen Dean this spooked. He’s almost ready to take the supposed threat seriously when whirlwind Jess flies into the living room.

“Chop chop, boys. It’s going to start raining any minute and that always fucks with traffic. Dean, you’re driving. Hope that’s okay.” She shoos them out the door, clearly in commander mode, accepting her purse as an afterthought from Sam when he hands it to her so he can lock the door.

Sam’s not paying too much attention on the drive-- Dean and Jess have completely bonded, teasing him and talking about electric cars-- occasionally offering up directions and comments, but otherwise letting them dominate the conversation.

Then Dean starts cursing, slamming on the brakes, and twisting the wheel to avoid the sudden pedestrian in the road.

Sam braces himself against the dash, waiting for the thump of a body getting thrown on to the hood or the car running over the curb.

Neither one comes.

Miraculously, Dean’s managed to stop nearly a ton of steel on a dime, and more importantly, the jackass in front of them hasn’t been hit. Sam has time for two deep breaths before Dean’s thrown the car into park, flipped on the emergency flashers, and is slamming the door shut on his way to bitch out the would-be roadkill.

Sam ignores the spectacle in front of him in favor of checking on Jess. She’s wide-eyed and looking a bit startled as she digs around the seat for her phone, but unharmed. He grabs her hand, just to reassure himself that she’s okay.

She squeezed his hand, “We didn’t hit the guy, did we?”

Sam shakes his head, gestures towards the sidewalk where Dean is tearing into the guy. “Nah. Dean’s yelling at the guy now.”

He and Jess watch as Dean tears into the guy, angrily gesturing at the crosswalk, the stoplights and walk signals, the rain, even the guy’s trenchcoat and drenched head. He’s allowed to continue for another few minutes before the guy says something and walks off. Dean’s posture changes from angry to confused as he stares after the man for a few minutes before turning back to the car.

All three are silent as Dean turns off the emergency flashers and edges back into traffic. It’s not a comfortable silence, but Dean and Jess are getting along well enough to allow silence, even if it’s a broody one on Dean’s end.

Parking around the restaurant is a nightmare. It’s an old part of town, with wide streets meant for the muscle cars of the Fifties, but the Impala is still huge compared to the Hondas and Toyotas that surround them. Add in the extra people searching for parking because it’s Friday and graduation weekend, and they’re lucky to find a parking spot within four blocks of the place.

It feels familiar, but Sam can’t figure out why. It’s been a while since he had to distract someone from Dean hiding away his weapons, but it’s not the first time. Certainly not infrequently enough to cause this level of deja vu. Frowning, Sam steers them down the sidewalk, trying to figure out what’s going on.

The explosion is deafening, even from a few blocks away, the blast wave reverberating between buildings, breaking windows all around them.

Sam starts running towards the restaurant before he has a chance to think about it, leaving Jess and Dean behind. The sidewalk is slick with rain and dress shoes never have much traction, but he _knows_ what’s coming, maybe this time he can stop it.

It’s been less than a minute since the explosion, but there’s already a crowd forming around the front door, trying to pull it open. No one is exiting, something must be keeping the doors barred, even if there’s no physical blockage. The only thing that makes sense is a hex bag.

He pauses his headlong rush, trying to figure out the best plan of action: force his way to the front doors and try to break them down; or hit the back doors, start getting people out that way. He’s still frozen when Jess and Dean catch up. Dean takes a bare fraction of a second to start assessing the situation before Sam gasps out, “Hex Bag, has to be. Doors blocked, windows aren’t breaking.”

The flames are licking higher now, the building firmly ablaze.

Dean takes a deep breath before pushing Sam and Jess towards the alley. “Go check the back door, get as many out as you can.” Dean catches his arm as they start to move, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Sam recognizes this now, the explosion, this terror, his complete failure to save anyone. He’s been having this nightmare for months, but he has no more idea how to save everyone, anyone, now than he did the first time.

They skid to a stop outside the back door which, thank God, has been propped open by the kitchen staff. It’s not much, but it’s a chance maybe. Jess reaches towards the door edge and immediately snatches her hand back. “Door’s too hot to touch, fire must have started in the kitchen.”

Sam pulls off his suit jacket, wrapping it around his hand and arm as protection against the heat and pulling his undershirt up to cover his nose and mouth. He awkwardly pulls the door open.

An inferno explodes from the kitchen, sending them stumbling back across the alley. Sam can feel his skin toasting and growing tight from the heat, eyes watering from the smoke. Even if there are people on the other side of the dining room doors, they’ll never get through.

Sam tries anyway. Wedging the door open, he ducks below the flames along the shelves, hopefully below the smoke that fills the kitchen. He barely gets two steps in before the heat and smoke force him back out. He moves back to Jess, standing silently at her side as they stare at the blaze. He’s failed them. Dozens of people are trapped and he can’t save them. _Weeks_ of this nightmare and he could do _nothing_.

Jess pulls him towards the alley entrance, her voice tight and frightened, “Sam, come on. We can’t help there.” Fire trucks are pulling up as they trudge back to the street, firefighters pushing past them to the back entrance and EMT’s swarming the scene. The civilians are being herded out of the way as the professionals take axes to the glass in an effort to pull out whatever survivors they can.

Sam’s leaning against an ambulance while an EMT looks at Jess's hand when Dean finds them. His suit is trashed, jacket ripped at the shoulders and blood splashed across his shirt and tie. Sam wants to ask, but Dean’s face is completely shut down, the way it does when an already bad hunt goes into catastrophic.

Jess is shivering in her thin blouse (when had she lost her jacket?) as she gets her hand wrapped. Dean’s standing stiffly next to him, looking towards the fire. The woman taking care of Jess has the same hard look as Dean. Sam may have spent the past four years out of the game, but he still knows how to read faces.

There’s no one coming out of that restaurant alive. The only reason they weren’t in that building is because of the strange run-in with that pedestrian. Running late because of a jaywalker and as a result, they survived. Jess's parents, who’ve never been late for anything in their lives, were locked inside, same as everyone else. No survivors.

Jess's face crumples into grief when the firefighters back away from the entrance and focus on keeping the fire from spreading. The building is starting to collapse in on itself, the old brick cracking and exploding into shards.

They’re watching the crowd, Jess wrapped in the remains of Dean’s jacket and Sam’s arms, when Dean stiffens even further beside them. He doesn’t meet Sam or Jess's eyes when they glance over at him, but he remains watchful and starts fidgeting with the knife in his pocket. He’s not actively hunting, but something has changed. Sam can feel it too, the nature of the crowd shifting from shell-shocked witnesses to something else. It’s time to go.


	4. Chapter 3

Safety is vague. The best they can do right now-- and Sam suspects, for a while-- is run. He and Dean have a silent argument about going back to the apartment before Dean slams the driver’s side door closed and peels out of the parking spot, heading back south. The car is silent, without even one of Dean’s mixtapes to cover the road noise.

Jess jumps out of the car as soon as it’s parked, rushing up the wooden staircase.

Sam lets her go, watching the doorway to make sure nothing follows, old habits coming back in the wake of tragedy. Sam and Dean sit in silence for a moment, Dean holding onto the steering wheel like a lifeline, Sam folded up in the backseat, leaning his head against the window.

“You led him to us,” Sam says, flatly. He wants to rage, throw a temper tantrum, but there’s nothing to be done now. The demon’s here, knows where to find him.

Given his luck, knows exactly where to find him, down to his exact apartment.

Dean heaves a sigh, face buried in the steering wheel. “I guess. I took all sorts of precautions, but it wasn’t enough.” He pulls back, “I’ve got an anti-possession charm in my bag for you, Jess can have mine. We need to get you someplace safe.”

“Dean, I can’t just walk away from my life here! I have friends, a job, responsibilities. Jess’s parents just _died_ because some demon has a hard-on for our family. You just admitted that the fucking thing probably followed you from wherever the fuck you were! I am not leaving Jess here to die because I was stupid enough to contact you.”

Dean blinks at him in the mirror before twisting around to face him. “She’s coming with us. She’s a target now even if you were willing to leave her behind.”

Sam’s caught off-guard, gaping at Dean. No arguing that civilians have no place in this life, forbidding him from telling Jess the truth, none of Dad’s arguments.

“I’m not Dad, Sam,” Dean continues. “I don’t care keeping the big family secret, not when it comes down to keeping you safe. If that means telling her, fine. Do that. But do it quick.”

“Do you have a safe house in mind or are we heading someplace random or…” Sam trails off as Dean shakes his head.

“I’ve got some friends you and Jess can crash with while I hunt Dad and this thing down. They’re in the life, but don’t hunt, so you should be safe enough.”

“Are you sure? I don’t--”

Dean swallows, looking up to meet Sam’s eyes. “You never wanted this. When it’s over, you can go back to your lives.”

Sam nods, once, before popping the door open and limping to the stairs to their apartment. After a few seconds, the driver’s side door of the Impala creaks open followed by the trunk before they’re both slammed shut.

Dean follows him up the stairs, not even bothering to hide the pistol he’s grabbed, the heavy canvas bag clanking with weapons, or the can of spray paint tucked into his jacket pocket. “What?”

“Are you going to war?”

“No, war would require a completely different weapons set,” Dean snarks. “It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s harder to move when it’s missing knee caps.” Dean tosses him a charm. “Here. Anti-possession. Don’t take it off.”

“What the _fuck_ , Dean? Are you kidding me?”

Dean ignores him, pushing past him and up the stairs. Sam jogs up after him, unlocking the door before Dean can bitch about it.

Dean inhales sharply, dropping the weapons bag on the kitchen table to the right of the door. Sam doesn’t pay attention as soon as he spies Jess, collapsed on the couch, curled up in a miserable ball. Sam’s at her side in an instant, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.

He loses time after that, holding Jess as she moves from shock to the first terrible moments of grief. Everytime Sam blinks, Dean’s busy doing what needs to be done: spilling salt across the doorway; reinforcing the existing wards; handing them both a shot glass of rum (it has to be rum, that’s the only hard liquor they keep in the apartment, too many bad memories for anything else) to drag them back to the present.

Sam shoots it back blindly, gasping as it burns its way down.

Beside him, Jess takes the second shot Dean hands her before waving off a third. Sam watches as she pulls herself together, pushing panic and grief to the side to be dealt with later. Emergency mode, she calls it. She’ll pay the price later, but only when they’re alone and safe. Assuming they ever manage something like that again.

Dean crouches down in front of her, leaving the bottle and empty shot glasses on the coffee table next to him. “I know you’ve had a really shitty day, Jess, but I need to you to do some stuff for us, ok?”

Sam recognizes the tone of voice that Dean has been using to wheedle information out of witnesses since he was old enough to be convincing. Dean pulls a charm from around his neck and drapes it, awkwardly, over Jess's head. “You need to wear that charm. It cannot come off, ever, until we find a more permanent solution.”

“I’m… gonna go get our go bags ready.” Sam rushes back to their bedroom, hurriedly throwing together a couple of bags. Dean’s voice remains a comforting murmur in the background as Sam empties both their backpacks onto the bed. He sorts through them quickly: class notes, random papers, nothing terribly important to their lives now. He leaves them behind. Laptops, a couple of novels each, Jess's diary, a few photos get carefully packed back in.

“Samuel Charles Browning!” Jess shouts from the living room.

Sam’s in motion, the baseball bat he keeps by the bed in hand, before he’s even registered that Jess is yelling in anger, not fear.

If Jess wasn’t about to murder him, Sam would drop to one knee and propose here and now. Jessica angry is a terrifying sight, even when her face is tear tracked and she’s covered in smoke and dirt. Instead, he sits on the couch where she points and prepares for what is probably going to be the most awkward conversation he’s had in years.

“Sam, what the fuck is happening? He--” she jerks her head towards where Dean’s doing something in the kitchen, “--keeps saying that there are demons after you and we need to leave. That we’re not safe here. What. the. Fuck.”

Sam sucks in a deep breath and blows it out, the only preparation he allows himself. He never wanted to have this conversation with Jess and rarely even imagined it, never in these circumstances. “I owe you a lot more explanation and truth than we have time for right now. But demons coming after us? That’s completely true. Well… it was probably just me, but, I’ve dragged you in too.”

Jess stares at him with a look he doesn’t recognize on her face. But she’s not slapping him and isn’t calling the cops on her suddenly insane boyfriend, so Sam’s going to count it as a win. The kettle whistles in the kitchen and Dean brings out a couple mugs of tea a few moments later. Jess falls back into the couch next to him and grabs his hand, holding on with a death grip, even as she accepts a mug.

Dean perches, gingerly, on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Ok, Sammy’s done a pretty good job on these wards, but we need to get out of here. Immediately.”

Jess sucks in a breath and sets her mug down heavily on the wooden coffee table. “Like hell. I’ll believe there’s something weird going on around here, I’ll even believe demons and the necessity of abandoning our lives in the middle of the night like criminals. But I’m not going _anywhere_ until I get a shower.”

Dean sits back, speechless.

She glares at him for a few seconds before standing and heading towards the bedroom.

Dean stares after her before turning slowly to face Sam. “Holy crap, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam. And yeah, she’s like that.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

Sam pushes himself to his feet and heads back to the bedroom, Dean following. “The truth. There’s no avoiding that now.” He zips closed the bag with Jess's clothes in it.

“Does she know anything? Anything at all?”

“She knows I can fight and my family didn’t want me to go to college. Sam Browning grew up poor and Catholic.” Sam moves Jess's bag next to the door, starts digging in the closet for his go-bag.

“Seriously, dude? Catholic? We’re like the least Catholic family possible.”

“Brady heard me muttering in Latin one time when I was drunk. Old school Catholic was easier than the truth. Who else would have this much random mythology in their head?” Sam double checks his bag, adds some more underwear and the roll of cash he saved for an engagement ring. He heaves a sigh as the bathroom door slams open with a rolling cloud of steam.

Dean takes a look at Jessica’s face as she comes out of the bathroom and disappears back towards the living room.

“I’m sorry, Jess. I never meant for any of my past to touch you.”

She snorts as she pulls a shirt on over her head. “You’ve been lying to me for years. And now, my parents are dead and we’re what, going to spend the rest of our lives on the run?” She roughly pulls her hair back into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. “How the fuck did you piss off someone so badly when you weren’t even an adult?”

Sam snorts.

Dean yells from the other room, cutting off Sam’s reply. They rush into the living room in time to see Dean plunge a kitchen knife into a stranger’s chest. For all that it’s human shaped, it’s very clearly not human, not if it’s shaking off a knife to the chest like water. Sam grabs the baseball bat, taking aim at the guy’s head.

It snatches the bat from Sam’s hands mid-swing, tossing it aside before plucking the knife from its chest. There’s a hole in the shirt, but no blood, no mark at all on the skin underneath.

Sam and Dean share a panicked look.

Dean takes a step back. “You’re the guy I almost killed earlier. What the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, Dean Winchester.”

Jess squeaks when Sam pushes her back towards the bedroom. He can at least give her time to escape through the bedroom window. She ignores him, edging back into the living room behind him while Sam stands motionless, staring.

“You as well, Samuel Winchester. We have work for you both.”

“Who are you?” Sam grinds out.

“Castiel.” The monster tilts its head to the side, blue eyes pinning them both into place.

“Thanks for that.” Dean rolls his eyes. “He meant, ‘what are you?’”

“I am an angel of the Lord,” he proclaims.

The lights flicker with the storm outside as Dean and Sam scoff. The shadows coalesce into enormous wings behind Castiel. For a moment, the room is silent except for the rain beating against the windows.

“Bullshit!” bursts out of both the Winchester’s throats.

Dean continues, “Angels aren’t real.”

The lightning fades, and with it the impression of wings sweeping through the apartment. Jess collapses into the armchair by the front door, laughing. The longer it goes, the more hysterical it gets, edging into mania. Sam whirls around, squatting next to her to grab her hand.

Dean edges over so he’s blocking Castiel’s view of them. “Dammit, Jess. What the hell?”

Jess pushes Sam away. “Of course he’s an angel, Dean. Because it’s all true. Everything my parents ever tried to teach me, it’s all true.” Her voice breaks. “It’s all true and I can never tell them because they’re dead.”

Castiel cuts off anything Sam could say, his voice back to human tones instead of proclaiming the truth of all things. “Your parents are in Heaven even now, Jessica Moore. Have no concerns on that.” He pauses. “And not everything is true, Purgatory has nothing to do with repentance.”

All three of them gape at Castiel for a moment. Castiel steps away from the doorway. Most of the lights come back up, except for a few that exploded when Castiel revealed his wings.

Sam watches as the angel touches the front door for a moment. The headache that’s been trying to form suddenly vanishes and Sam relaxes. The last thing he needs while they’re running for their lives is to be waylaid by another migraine, or worse, another vision.

“I have introduced some new wards to keep demonic activity from this domicile. We are safe here for another few minutes and then we should be on our way.”

Jess sits up sharply. “What? I thought you were here to keep us safe? Save my parents?”

“I cannot undo what has been done, Jessica,” Castiel says gently. “I am a warrior, not a guardian, selected to save the righteous man and explain, but that is as far as my mandate goes.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Mandates, having a job for us, whatever the fucking hell the righteous man is.” Apparently, whatever caused the headache to disappear also loosened Sam’s tongue. “Why now?”

The angel glares at him. “Sit down, Samuel.” Dean sits as well, landing heavily on the couch. “We are acting now because this is the time to act. Heaven and Hell’s plans are approaching completion. This cannot be allowed to happen.”

“Heaven _and_ Hell?” Jess asks sharply. “They’re working together?”

“Elements are. The upper echelons.” Castiel swallows, suddenly looking remarkably human. “No one knows when the agreement was struck, just that it was.”

“An agreement to do… what?” Sam asks, horror running down his spine.

“You are key players for the Apocalypse. Hell wants to control you, Sam. Heaven to control Dean.” Castiel pushes himself even straighter, near military precision. “I’ve already destroyed one demon coming to harm you since you returned here. We should go.”

“What do you mean, destroyed a demon?” Sam pushes himself to his feet unsteadily. “I thought--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean cuts him off. “Grab your bags and lets go. We’ll discuss it in the car.”

Jess hisses when she grabs her bag with her bad hand, wincing before switching hands. Sam shakes his head and pulls it over his shoulder. Leaning down, he kisses her cheek before intertwining their fingers. “I’m--”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m going to kick your ass.” Jess stares up at him angrily. “Sorry isn’t doing squat right now.”

“Right, um. Okay.”

Dean leads the way outside, duffle over one shoulder and his pistol in hand. The parking lot isn’t particularly well lit, but it’s impossible to not see the body slumped on the ground at the foot of the stairs. Dean and Castiel only raise their eyebrows but Sam stops cold.

Sam knows that uglyass shirt, even under the sodium yellow lights of the parking lot. “Brady?” The body’s eyes have been burnt out, leaving blackened craters behind. Uselessly, Sam drops to his knees, scrambling to find a pulse. “What the fuck happened here?”

“As I said, I destroyed a demon.” Castiel glances around impatiently. “We should leave, before more arrive.”

“You didn’t destroy a demon, you _killed_ my best friend!” Sam pushes himself to his feet, stalking over. He should probably feel bad about sucker punching an angel but-- “Jesus fucking Christ, I just broke my damn hand!”

“Get in the car, Samuel. We do not have time for your foolishness.”

“We are going to have words,” Sam says lowly.

Dean bangs on the top of the car ahead of them. “C’mon. We’re too exposed here.”

Stiffly, Castiel turns and walks towards the car, waiting at the passenger side for a couple of heart beats before Dean says something-- too quiet for Sam to hear-- and getting into the front seat.

Sam follows, dropping his and Jess's bags into the footwell of the backseat and climbing into the back where Jess is waiting. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, like a fish, before shaking his head.

He has nothing. Their best friend is dead, her parents too. He has no idea when they’ll be back home… Silently, Sam slumps in his seat, reaching over to grab Jess's hand only as an afterthought.


	5. Chapter 4

The car is tense, anger and resentment nearly at the boiling point for hours, until Jess drops off to sleep while Dean struggles to break through the city traffic and head towards points unknown. Sam dozes off at some point too, waking up when Dean stops for gas at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere at one in the morning. Hazily, Sam follows Dean inside to use the restroom and grab some snacks, childhood habit momentarily taking over.

Business done and blinking against the glare of the overhead lights while Dean pays, Sam asks roughly “Do you need me to drive?”

“I’m good for another few hours and Cas is doing pretty good at keeping me company.” Dean shrugs, holds up an energy drink and a bag of jerky. “You and Jess can get some more sleep.”

Sam swallows when he sees Castiel still sitting in the passenger seat, unmoving. “You think we can trust him?”

“Do we have a choice?” Dean asks bleakly. “He’s nothing I’ve ever seen, and _something_ burned out your friend’s eyes.”

“That’s the problem, Dean. He burned out Brady’s eyes and near as I can tell, doesn’t give a single shit.”

“I’ve got Bobby looking into it.” Dean sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Maybe he’ll find something.”

Sam grimaces before nodding. “If he’s not playing straight with us…”

“If he’s a demon, you can take first crack.”

“I already broke my freaking hand on his jaw. Now you want me to exorcise him?”

Dean looks at him blankly before shaking his head. “Do I need to tape your hand to a can again, so it can set properly?”

“God, no. That was miserable.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dean says fondly.

“You taped my hand to a fucking beer can. We’re lucky I didn’t get expelled.”

“It was summer, I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” Dean smirks easily. “Taught you how to throw a punch though.”

“I was _seven_.” Climbing back into the car, Sam can’t hide his quiet gasp when he whacks his hand against the doorframe.

Castiel must hear him, because he twists around in the seat. Frowning, he reaches towards Sam before pulling up short. “May I see your hand, Sam?”

Hesitantly, Sam extends it, allowing Castiel to pull it over the seat back. Castiel looks at it for a moment before breathing out. As he does so, a gentle warm light envelopes Sam’s hand, focused on the most painful parts. The light fades after a moment along with the pain.

Pulling his hand back, Sam flexes a couple of times, trying to get a good look in the passing street lights. “What did you do? Did you _heal_ my hand?”

“If that wasn’t appropriate--”

“No, that’s great.” Sam blinks. “Shit, I don’t… I guess you really are an angel.”

Castiel shoots him a look that Sam can only interpret as ‘Duh’ but says nothing, turning back to the front of the car. After a few moments, he twists back around, extends a hesitant hand to Jess's shoulder. The same white light envelopes her hands before disappearing. Sam watches in amazement as Jess stretches slightly and sinks deeper into sleep.

Sam dozes back off to the rhythm of the highway under their wheels, Dean and Castiel talking quietly in the front seat.

* * *

 

It is Castiel-- who doesn’t need sleep and would probably survive Dean crashing the car-- who finally insists that they stop. They’re just barely over the border into Nevada when Castiel calls a stop to their frantic escape. “Dean, you are exhausted and, increasingly, a danger to other drivers. We should stop for the night.”

Dean starts to make disgruntled noises, but Sam catches Dean’s eye in the rearview mirror, “He’s right. You’re going to end up falling asleep at the wheel and that’ll kill us faster than any demon. Just pull in at the next motel. We’ll all do better with some real sleep.”

Dean clearly wants to argue the point, undoubtedly prepared to drive until he can’t keep his eyes open.

Jess stirs next to Sam, coming out of her doze, “Oh. Are we stopping?”

Jess is the deciding factor. Sam watches as Dean’s eyes flick to her in the mirror, the infinitesimal softening. If it was just him and Sam in the car, they’d drive for hours yet regardless of their exhaustion. But Jess, with her unconcealed grief, is sufficient excuse to stop, eat something that didn’t come out of a deep fryer, and sleep in a bed.

Dean pulls into the Monarch Motel a few minutes later, sending Castiel to check them in while the three of them stay in the car, safely out of sight of any possible surveillance cameras. Castiel seems like an odd choice, but of the four of them, he’s also the least likely to have a demon searching for him.

The rooms are about what Sam expects from a motel on the edge of a national park: cheap and run down, but clean. He’s stayed in worse, although the look on Jess's face makes him wonder if his scale is really all that reliable.

“Is it always going to be like this?” Jess sounds more curious than upset. “Driving until we’re a danger to others and then collapsing in some rent by the hour, only to wake up and do it all over again?”

He looks around the room again, at the sagging bed and cheap recliner, trying to see it from her eyes. Sam grimaces. “Not always. Once we’re safe, things will get better. We-- You’ll be able to go back to your life and this can just be an extended nightmare.”

She still looks dubious. A knock at the door cuts him off before he can try to explain further. Jess checks the peephole briefly before unlocking the door and opening it. “Hey--”

Dean pushes past Jess as soon as the door is open. “There’s a twenty-four hour diner about three miles up the road. Jess and I will grab food while you and Cas do your nerd thing, try to work out how those demons tracked me to you.”

“My nerd thing.” Sam stares at Dean. “It’s three am and this place doesn’t have wi-fi. I can’t just magic up an internet connection, Dean. Even if I could, I doubt it’ll be online somewhere. Unless someone’s uploaded a shit ton of occult books in the last few years.” Castiel looks up like he wants to correct him, but Sam steamrolls over him. “My guess is that they’re watching both you and Bobby, waiting for me to fuck up and contact you. Then it’s just a matter of following you around. Hell, going to Bobby’s right now is probably the worst thing we could do.”

“Stop,” Jess interrupts before Dean can respond. “You,” she points at Sam, “Stay here and get some rest. Maybe send a text to everyone at school so they know we’re _alive_? Dean and I are going to get food and you are going to explain _exactly_ your plan for the next week is. Castiel, you… do whatever it is angels do.” She shrinks when she sees all three men staring at her. “What? I’m tired and hungry. I don’t have the patience for you two to have some spat that I’m only going to understand half of.”

“I like her, Sammy.” Dean smirks at Sam as he gestures towards the door. “After you, m’am. Cas, did you want anything?”

“No, thank you. I do not require food.”

“Suit yourself. Holler if you need something.” Dean follows Jess out. The Impala rumbles to life a few moments later.

Sam shakes himself as the Impala’s engine fades from his hearing. “Right. So angels don’t eat, huh?” He starts clearing the table in front of the window, piling his and Jess's bags on the bed for right now.

Castiel watches for a moment before pulling a sharpie from his pocket. Castiel looks over his shoulder as he starts drawing sigils on the door. “It’s not required. Some on Earth do, some don’t. Those that do tend to be guided by their vessel’s tastes.”

Sam looked up sharply. “Vessel?”

“It’s… complicated.” Castiel takes a step back. “You should memorize these. Wards against most things demonic and angelic.”

“What the hell does ‘complicated’ mean?” Sam asks.

“It’s actually quite simple,” Castiel says. “However, we have far more pressing matters than how I came to be present on this plane. The warding, for instance.”

“Keep your secrets then.” Sam rolls his eyes and grabs a notepad from the bedside table. “Does position matter? Or can they be any which way? And where do they come from?”

Castiel smiles at the onslaught of questions. “Position doesn’t matter as long as they’re oriented correctly.” He touches three of the symbols, “These are from what you would term Proto-Indo European tribes. These two are Enochian. The devil’s trap is from the Key of Solomon which I believe you are familiar with.” He gently runs his finger over the last symbol, “This one hides the bearer from angels. It was discovered by accident by a young prophet trying to hide from her visions. She didn’t know what she had found until she was being burned at the stake.”

“How do you accidentally discover a warding symbol against angels if you’re a prophet?”

“She prayed,” Castiel says simply. “Mary answered, guiding her hand when Joan set to carving her own flesh.”

“Joan. You’re… Joan of Arc?” he stares at Cas for a long moment before shaking his head and scribbling a note to himself along the edge of the sheet, identifying each symbol. “I have so many questions.”

“I know. Perhaps one day, we’ll have time to discuss them.”

The two fall into silence as Sam practices drawing the symbols and Castiel finds some stupid movie on basic cable.

The Impala rumbles up after about twenty minutes, drowning out the questionable science babble about electromagnetic fields in the movie. Jess and Dean let themselves in a few minutes later, hands full of takeout. Dean takes a moment to get them organized before handing styrofoam containers around. Even Castiel gets handed a small plate of pancakes.

Everyone is too tired to carry on much of a conversation. Instead, it’s all short exchanges about passing utensils or wondering what the hell the conspiracy nut on screen is talking about.

As soon as Dean finishes eating-- a burger, fries, and half of Castiel’s pancakes-- he slumps at the table, already half asleep. Sam rolls his eyes and kicks him out for the night. “Dean, go to your own room and sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Dean jolts at Sam’s voice before he processes and nods. “Right. Sleep. C’mon Cas, you can watch your movie in my room, let them sleep.”

Sam locks the door after them before collapsing on the bed next to Jess's legs. She groans as the bed bounces. “Sleep now?”

“Yeah, Jess.” She can, and should, sleep. He’s just not sure he’ll be able to between the unfamiliar bed and the nightmares he’s sure will come.

Sam finally drifts off at around five in the morning, listening to the low hum of the TV on the other side of the wall.

* * *

 

They spend nearly a week in the same pattern. Dean does most of the driving, turning north and south seemingly at random, always heading vaguely east, but backtracking frequently, trying to slip the tail he’s certain is there, even if there’s no evidence. They spend hours lecturing Jess on Basic Hunting 101. Sam’s not sure how much of it she’s actually following-- there’s a lot of digressions and tangents-- but it’s something to talk about. Even Castiel starts getting in on it, adding the metaphysical ‘why’ to accompanying ‘what’ that Dean and Sam can recite from memory.

(Sam pretends to ignore the frequency new text messages or phone calls are followed by abrupt changes in direction. Dean pretends to ignore how often Sam startles awake in the back seat, a scream in his throat.)

By the time they hit Nebraska, it feels like they’ve been in the car for months.

It’s barely nine when Dean pulls off the highway into the parking lot of a rundown roadhouse. Dean gestures the three of them towards a table near the door and strides around the place like he belongs here.

He does, Sam realizes. Whatever else has happened over the past four years-- and it’s clearly been a lot, if Dean’s hunting by himself-- Dean’s found a place to call his own beyond the Impala. Suddenly, it’s obvious that Dean’s changed as much over the past four years as Sam has.

Dean distracts him from his revelation. “You guys stay here, I’m going to go find Ash.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he pushes through the employee only door.

Sam watches him go, steals a few sugar packets from the supply in the center of the table to fidget with. “Cas, do you know how long after I left Dad did?”

Cas shakes his head. “While your family has always been under a level of angelic surveillance, until recently the angels responsible for it were all part of the faction pushing for the apocalypse. That is no longer the case, but the information has been lost.”

“Sam?” Jess's hand is gentle on his arm, forcing him to drop the packets. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing is _wrong_. Dean’s just… not the person he was before I left. And I don’t know how much of that is because his entire family abandoned him.”

“You didn’t abandon him, Sam. You made the best choice for you.”

Sam scoffs. “Sure feels like I did.” Anything else gets cut off by sudden yelling in the kitchen.

“Damnit, Jo, Ellen! It’s me. Put that damn thing away!”

All three of them rush towards the door, pushing through the swinging double doors. Castiel blinks out before Sam and Jess can get to the door, disappearing.

If Sam wasn’t quite certain that every weapon in evidence is deadly sharp or loaded, the standoff in progress would be something out of a questionable action-comedy. Dean has an arm twisted up behind him by a blonde a bit younger than Sam and Jess. Cas is holding a knife to her throat while an older woman aims a pistol at his head.

Sam stops dead in the doorway, unsure how to get everyone involved to put down their weapons long enough to actually think things through.

A guy wanders into the kitchen through a backdoor like he belongs there. “Howdy, Dean. Morning, Jo, Ellen. Why are we holding each other hostage this morning?” He asks as he turns the fryers on before digging into the refrigerators along the wall.

He’s matter of fact enough it breaks the tension. Dean and the girl are released while Cas and the woman make their weapons disappear somewhere. Sam relaxes in the doorway.

“Startled Jo looking for you,” Dean says smugly. “It’s faster to have you explain the technical jargon to Sam than for me to fumble it. And Cas can probably add some more of those data points you were wanting.”

The woman looks over at Sam in the doorway, Jess behind him. “Sam, the brother you’ve been worrying about for four years?” At Dean’s nod, she snorts, “Doesn’t look like he’s been in that much danger.”

Dean and Sam wince in unison. “He wasn’t. Not until I showed up at his door.” Dean shrugs. “Gigantor is Sam. She’s Jess, his girlfriend.” He nods the other way, towards Cas, “That’s Cas, Castiel. He’s an angel. Guys, this is Ellen, Jo and Ash. Ellen owns the place, Jo is her daughter, Ash drinks all their beer.”

Ash tosses a “Hola” over his shoulder as he does something to food.

Ellen points them back out to the dining room. “Jo, you go with ‘em. Fill Dean in.”

“Any news on Dad?” Dean asks when they’re through the swinging doors.

Jo glances away from Dean and ducks behind the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey and some glasses.

Jess leads the way back towards the table they’d claimed earlier, still scattered with sugar packets. Jo follows them without saying a word. Sam frowns, trying to figure out what on earth could need whiskey this early in the morning.

“Yeah, yesterday.” Jo pours a line of shots, pushing two in front of Dean and one in front of everyone else. “Richie contacted Caleb who emailed Rufus who called us since we’d been putting the word out. Hell, there may have been a few other steps in there. Didn't want to tell you while you were on the road, you had plenty of other things to worry about. And it didn’t seem particularly pressing anymore.”

Dean looks at the shot glasses and then at Jo. “What were you not telling me while I was driving halfway across the country?”

“John’s dead.”

Dean sucks in a breath before slamming back the first shot. “For sure? How?”

Jo nods, “Yeah. Richie recognized the warding style and jewelry.” She tips back her own shot. “Said it looked like hellhounds, up in Minnesota.”

Sam shakes his head to clear it. He had to have heard her wrong. “Hellhounds? What the fuck?” He steals Jess's shot glass from her, drinking them back to back. “When would he have even made a deal?”

“He didn’t,” Dean says firmly. “There’s no way. Those are ten year deals and I was with him for almost every hunt. Besides, _Dad_ making a deal? He’d die first.”

“If he didn’t make a deal…” Sam says slowly. “What _was_ he doing?

“Richie said it looked like he’d been hunting a demon.” Jo shrugs. “But Richie’s about as reliable as a broken clock.”

“Why?” Jess asks.

“Because I had Ash check-- there hasn’t been any demon signs nearby for years.” Jo leans forward, stacking the scattered sugar packets before flicking them across the table towards Sam. “So either John was hitting new levels of stupid and hunting a demon alone or Richie was wrong.”

Sam waits for Dean to jump in and defend Dad, but it doesn’t come.

Dean sighs and nods. “Right. That’s Dad all over. Did Richie take care of salting and burning him?”

“It’s been months. The county had already cremated him and set aside his remains, waiting for someone to come looking. Said he’d bring them here when he was done with his current hunt. Figured we’d burn him again just in case.”

Sam nods, swallowing against an unexpected lump. “I don’t--”

“John Winchester cannot be in Hell,” Cas near whispers. “Hell can’t possibly be prepared to start open war, not when Sam remains untempted.” He blinks out of existence, ignoring the flabbergasted looks on their faces.

Jess recovers first. “Now Hell is looking for us too?” She snags the bottle from in front of Jo and her glass from Sam before pouring another shot. “Does anyone from Earth know what’s happening and care to explain?”

Sam looks at Dean, but Jo is the one who actually speaks up. “Short version? The demon that killed Mary is causing trouble, possibly-probably looking for Sam. Until the angel feels like sharing, no one knows why.” She settles back in her chair, rolling her eyes. “How green are you?”

“Less than a week ago, I was meeting my parents for graduation dinner. Heaven, Hell, angels, demons, all of it, were fairy tales told in church or around a campfire,” Jess says scathingly. “It’s been a _bit_ of a traumatic week and now I’ve got an angel riding shotgun in a haphazard retreat halfway across the country while my boyfriend tells me that every nightmare I’ve ever had is true, and oh, by the way, everything I know about his past is a lie.” Jess slams her glass on the table and shrugs out from under Sam’s arm to march over to the bar and pour herself a soda.

Sam winces. “It wasn’t all a lie. Just…” He trails off, tries, “The truth from a certain point of view?” He deserves the glare she sends his way.

Ash interrupts, dropping a basket of fried things on the table before grabbing his laptop from the bartop. “Dean, my dude, sorry to hear about your pop. Fried mushroom?”

Dean shrugs, uncurling a bit at his end of the table. “Should have expected it. He’s been gone for nearly a year.” He gestures at Cas's empty seat. “Have a sit, tell me you’ve got a pattern, a glimmer of what’s happening, _something_.”

“Dude, I’ve got data coming out my ears. The problem is figuring out what’s pattern and what’s noise. Some of what we’re seeing have to be our sort of thing, but they don’t match anything I’ve heard of.”

“They’re angels.” Cas is suddenly right behind Dean and Ash, looking more flustered than he did when he left.

Dean recoils from the sudden presence, “Cas, personal space.”

The angel takes a measured half step back, still close enough that he can easily point at the screen. Sam looks at Dean, certain that he’s going to tell Cas to back off some more, but Dean ignores it.

Cas points at several different points of the screen, “These three events here, they all were angels smiting the victim. Given everything that has happened, it’s likely they were key players preventing a seal from being broken.”

Sam watches as Dean’s face freezes, caught between blowing up and shutting down completely. Too many body blows in too short a time. Bad enough that Dad is dead, on a hunt no one knew about, but Heaven taking out bystanders in preparation of God knows what?

Sam nods and pushes away from the table. “Cas, can you… fly or teleport us or whatever… to Bobby’s? We’re going to need him. We also need all cards on the table, including, Dean, anything you know about what Dad was looking for.”

Dean nods stiffly. Cas thinks for a moment, “It would be easier to bring Mr. Singer and any lore books needed here rather than the four of us and the Impala to him.”

“Sure, whatever. Take Dean with you so he doesn’t shoot you.” Cas nods, lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and the two disappear.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to add Mellifuu's great art!

Tucked into a small booth near the corner, Sam people watches with Jess reading a book across from him. Not much about this entire situation can be termed soothing, but this is close. Dad tried to keep them out of places like this growing up, but it’s familiar enough.

Ellen and Jo open the roadhouse on schedule as truckers stop in for lunch and a drink before moving on. There’s a few tourists who stop in too, brave souls risking the old highway system instead of taking the interstate. Sam doesn’t think about it too hard, just makes sure they stay out of the way.

Most of the folks come and go, sometimes staying only long enough for a drink, others stay long after they’ve finished their meals. Those are the ones that attract Sam’s attention-- waiting for someone, often with papers under their elbows while they drink steadily, until someone sits down across from them and they huddle together.

He watches a couple of these clandestine meetings happen before he realizes what he’s actually seeing, and only after catching a glimpse of a sketch spread across the table when he gets up to go to the bathroom.

Hunters. They’re hunters, trading information, agreeing to work together, passing on news. The parts of hunting that Dad deliberately kept them out of, always working alone or with only a couple of trusted others-- Bobby, Pastor Jim.

Sucking in a breath, Sam sits back down in the booth they’ve claimed and watches with new eyes.

“Everything okay?” Jess asks, sticking her finger in her book.

“Yeah, no, I…” Sam trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “I always knew there was a community for hunting, but never-- Dad almost always worked alone until Dean and I got old enough to help. Now, it’s--”

“Budge over,” Jo orders, dropping three burgers and fries on the table before sliding in next to Jess. “Figured you’d be hungry and Dean said he’d be a bit longer.”

“When did--”

“He texted a few minutes ago.” Jo snags one of the plates and takes a bite of the burger before continuing. “Something about Cas and Bobby.”

“Oh.” Sam blinks, before assembling his burger and waiting for Jess to slip her pickle on to his plate. “When-- What did--”

“Use full sentences, will you?” Jo says, flatly. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“He’s having a bit of culture shock,” Jess shoots back. “You could try being a little nicer.”

“Nice doesn’t get you jack shit.”

“And being a bitch does?”

“I can go toe to toe with any of these guys and lay most of them out on their ass. And not a single fucker will believe me unless I do it.”

Jess reels back, clearly getting ready to launch into another argument when Sam cuts them both off.

“Stop it, both of you. Jesus.” He drops his burger, suddenly not hungry anymore. “It’s fine. I’m not some fucking damsel who’s honor you need to protect or whatever.”

They both turn on him, glaring, before going back to their pointless bickering. Normally, Sam would try to be the peacemaker, but he doesn’t know Jo well enough and he just… doesn’t care right now. He picks at his food, listening to them and watching as the other people in the Roadhouse finish up and leave while a new crowd trickles in.

Finally, long after Jo and Jess have given up their bickering, Dean and Cas stumble back in with Bobby in tow. Cas doesn’t look great, but none of them are looking their best after a week in the car.

Sam and Jess stay in the background, watching as Jo wraps Bobby up in a hug. He looks… okay. A bit older, a bit grumpier, but very much the same as the last time Sam had seen him. He’s spent so much time and effort never thinking about this and now…

“Get over here, ya idjit,” Bobby demands. “I’ve not seen you in years and you’re just gonna stand over in the shadows like some sort of ghost?”

“I--” Sam starts but nothing else comes out. Reaching out, he grabs Jess's hand for support. “I wasn’t sure…”

Dean glances between them and herds everyone else into the back. “We’ll be in my office when you’re done.”

Jess squeezes Sam’s hand before pulling away to follow Dean. “I’ll wait with everyone else,” she whispers and kisses him on the cheek.

“Bobby, I--”

“I’m just glad you’re alive, kid.”

Sam lets out the breath he forgot he’d been holding, worry seeping out of him. Bobby’s not mad.

“If you ever do that again though, I’m gonna hunt you down myself.”

Sam nods, wetly, before he’s pulled into Bobby’s chest.

It takes a few minutes to pull himself together and ready to face the others. Once he’s cleaned himself up, he follows Bobby to the backroom.

It’s not huge, dominated by the table in the center and the shelving units along three of the walls. The fourth wall-- across from the door-- is covered in well-used cork and white boards with a US map in the center. Sigils and other warding line the walls behind the shelves, swirls and angles poking out from behind boxes and books. Bobby pushes past him at the entrance, already bitching to Dean about being ‘gentle with those, goddammit, it’s two hundred fucking years old.’

“Pretty impressive, right?” Jo says beside him. “It was my dad’s, before he died. When Dean started hanging around, helping out between hunts, Mom told him to clean it up and stop poking holes in her guest room walls.”

Sam glances over at Dean. He’s standing far too close to Cas, talking about something. Cas's shirt is soaked and has a new tear in the chest. He looks unharmed from this distance, but Dean has his worried face on.

He turns back to Jo as they move further into the room, “Your dad was a hunter?” He feels Jess come up beside him and he takes her hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Yeah. He died when I was still in pigtails. Mom kept the Roadhouse open though, and kept doing what she had always done. Information clearinghouse, passing along hunts.” She sighs and turns to Jess, sticks her hand out. “We got off on the wrong foot. Jo Harvelle, hunter.”

For the first time in days, a small bit of Jess's smile reaches her eyes as she shakes Jo’s hand. “Jessica Moore, materials engineer.”

Jo draws Jess off, chatting about the comparative brittleness of copper and bronze. Sam’s left alone for a moment, watching the girls shoo Bobby away from his books with orders to get a pot of coffee going as Dean grabs Castiel’s wrist and drags him from the room. It’s a madhouse, but a well orchestrated one. Bobby, Dean, and Ellen have well-worn arguments about the correct ratio of coffee grounds to water while Jo stays out of it, focusing on unpacking Bobby’s books and then pulling more off the shelves.

Patterns of behavior, like maybe Dean’s spent a lot of time here over the past four years, like maybe the only reason Dean stuck around Dad for as long as he did was for Sam, and once Sam left, Dean got gone too.

It’s too big for him to get a handle on right now, so Sam pushes it to the side and searches for something to do instead. Glancing at the symbols on the walls, Sam shifts some of the boxes to the side so he can get a better look.

“He missed you, ya know,” Ellen says from behind him, apparently having given up on the coffee fight.

Sam pauses for a moment before continuing to move boxes. “I know. I missed him too. But…”

“But you needed to do your own thing. Wish Jo had done the same.” Ellen turns to face him, her voice hardening, “But, if you ever disappear like that again, you and whoever helped will wish you’d’ve never been born.” She slides the box she’s holding back into place, leaving him standing alone. The girls file out behind her, still chatting about metallurgy.

Sam snaps a photo of the warding he can see before moving the boxes back into position. The room’s gone near silent behind him, only the shuffling of papers to indicate he’s not alone. He sighs after a couple of minutes of awkward silence. “You might as well get it out, Bobby.”

“I ain’t gonna yell at you, boy. I ain’t your pa.” Bobby’s voice is unexpectedly even. Sam turns around in time to see him take a swig out of his flask before continuing. “It was a damn fool thing, not gonna lie. But you had your reasons. Your brother though...”

“As soon as he’s done being glad I’m alive, he’s going to kill me?” Sam smirks. “Yeah, I kinda figured that. I deserve it.”

Bobby slaps his shoulder when he passes to open the door, letting the noise of the roadhouse filter back in.

Opening the door must have been a signal because Ellen, Jo, and Jess suddenly reappear, carrying food, booze, and a backpack full of journals. Ash stumbles in a moment later, still carrying his laptop. He beelines for Bobby, barely looking up as he dodges Jo and Ellen. He and Bobby are bent over the laptop within moments, trading half-sentences, trying to work out the pattern among everything that’s going on.

Sam leaves them be, grabbing one of the folding chairs and a notebook to copy down the existing wards in here. If he’s going to add the new ones Cas taught him into the existing matrix, he has to figure out how they’re working together as it is.

Jess slides in next to him and steals a sheet of paper to start working on her own thing. For a moment, if he ignores the background, it’s any other Thursday night studying next to each other on the couch, books spread around them. But then Ash swears at the other end of the table while Bobby pours whiskey into a coffee mug and the illusion is shattered.

Dean playfully punches Sam’s shoulder as he comes into the room before filling two cups of coffee and settling down next to him. Cas follows a moment later. Cas feels… off, in a way that Sam’s not sure he can articulate, but he certainly looks less uptight in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Sam’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to be noticing the looks Dean keeps shooting at Cas. Or how close together their chairs end up. Sam doesn’t think they’ve progressed to playing footsie under the table yet, but there’s lots of casual contact between them. They’re acting like middle schoolers, in a really well-armed sort of way.

He catches Jess's attention, tilts his head towards them, and waggles his eyebrows anyway. She glances over and immediately has to stifle her giggles.

Bobby waits until everyone’s settled around the table, raising an eyebrow at Jo when she takes too long to pull a chair from the stack. “Castiel, I’ve got a stack of lore and prophecy, none of it saying that the end of the world is approaching.”

“Your prophecies are wrong.” Cas says flatly. “Before the apocalypse can start, certain things have to be in place. What Heaven, and Hell, are doing is lining the pieces up on the board.”

Ellen’s voice is flat as she very deliberately sets her glass down on the shelves by the door, “Heaven is trying to start the apocalypse.”

“It’s closer to Heaven is not preventing Hell from starting it. Including sometimes preparing seals to be broken so Hell will have an easier time. That is why there’s suddenly angels killing people after decades of non-interference.”

“And your position on this is?” Sam thinks his voice is remarkably steady for being told that the world is going to end, that Heaven is actively working towards it.

Cas looks down. “My… brother, Gabriel, left Heaven rather than condone the actions of Michael and the other archangels. A number of us agreed with him and are trying to keep humanity intact.”

“Let me get this straight, someone in Heaven doesn’t care if the world ends. Some other team, your team, thinks humanity is pretty neat and wants to preserve it. And you need us because… why?” Jess asks.

“Because either John or Dean could be the Righteous Man and break the first seal. Once that seal is broken, this entire endeavor becomes much more difficult.”

“Righteous?” Dean snorts. “Have you met me? Hell, have you met _Dad_?”

“There’s much more than your behavior. Only certain bloodlines, ancient ones, and individuals who meet very strict criteria…”

“What are you dancing around saying?” Dean interrupts. “Why me and not Sam?”

Cas shakes his head. “It’s complicated and this is not the place.”

“Dad’s dead. That gets him off the board, right? He’s not a factor anymore?” Sam asks uncertainly. Jess drops her hand below the table to hold his, giving it a squeeze.

Bobby cuts across any response Cas might have made. “The First Seal… before releasing Lucifer? Pretty sure it requires the Righteous Man being in Hell. Dean’s right here, and John’s who the fuck knows where but--”

“Shit,” someone says, Ash maybe. Sam can’t tell, his ears ringing.

“Dad’s dead, Bobby.” Dean says quietly. “We just found out… Hellhounds.”

Bobby swears loudly and creatively. It’s almost enough to set Sam’s world back right, but he’s still reeling.

Dean’s eyes harden as he turns away from the table, running his finger over one of the bookshelves until he finds the book he’s looking for. Sam winces when Dean pulls a folded booklet from the front cover, the binding on that book has to be at least a hundred years old and… Dean catches his eye. “If they would include indexes, this wouldn’t happen.” It only takes a few moments for Dean to flip to the appropriate page in the text, reading aloud a passage.

 

> _And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him._
> 
> _And the earth was sealed after him, with six score seals of blood and spirit; six score seals of earth and sky; six score seals of fire and sea._
> 
> _And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break. And there shall follow threescore and four seals separating the great dragon from man. The last seal shall remain. Adam's wife, cast down with the serpent, shall be the last seal._
> 
> _And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy._
> 
> _The merciful shall take up his sword against the deceiver, his brother, and vanquish him forever._

The text thumps onto the table when Dean finishes. “Over seven hundred possible seals and only sixty-six need to be broken to release Lucifer.”

“Well, that’s just a kick in the pants.” Ash clicks a few times on his computer before typing a bit, “And a shitty ass lock. Cas, you said some of those hits I’m getting are angels preemptively taking out the guardians of specific seals. But I'm not seeing any similar activity from demons. What gives?”

“They’re not ready. And as long as Sam stays as he is, they won’t be.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asks, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. “Stay as I am how?”

“You are the only one of Azazel’s cambions who is known to have survived to adulthood and is not in the control of Hell. Changing your name… worked. Azazel lost track of you, so did the rest of Hell. Heaven always assumed you’d be with your brother and didn’t even have someone looking.”

“If only that’s what I’d been trying to do,” Sam says wryly. “Instead of running away from home for college.”

“Who’s Azazel?” Jess asks into the silence.

Cas looks around the table, “He killed Mary Winchester when she interrupted him.”

At least Bobby and Dean look as stunned as Sam feels. They’ve been trying to kill this thing for over twenty years and they finally have a name. With a name they can summon the damn thing. With a name, they can kill it.

“Azazel is the least of our worries,” Ellen says into the silence. “If he’s trying find Sam for whatever reason--”

“To jumpstart the apocalypse.” Ash says slowly. “We need to keep that from happening. At least until we have a game plan.”

“Awesome,” Dean breathes out. “Hiding from demons, no big deal. We do that all the time.” Pushing away from the table, he stalks from the room.

Sam’s on his feet, following him before he has time to think. “Dean!” he calls, barely catching a glimpse of his jacket whipping around a corner in the back of the kitchen.

There’s a small hallway back here, narrow and dark, even in the bright afternoon sunshine Sam can see through the door at the far end. Three or four doors open off the hallway. Dean slams the one at the end, hard enough to rattle the door frames.

“Dean!” Sam pushes open the door. “What the hell?”

The room is small, barely big enough for a twin size bed and a small dresser, with a window high up in the back wall. The only thing that makes it less prison-like is the colorful quilt spread across the bed with a clashing afghan folded over the footboard.

Dean swipes an arm across the top of the dresser, sending the knick-knacks there flying. “How am I supposed to keep you safe, huh? When the only way you’ve been safe in your life is by getting as far from me as fucking possible?”

“So we come up with some other options! Jesus, Dean, what is going on?”

Dean slumps to sit on the bed, staring blankly at the floor. “I led him right to you. Got your best friend killed, got Jess's parents killed. Your apartment burned, by the way. Bobby passed that along when we got to his place.” Dean snorts. “I ruined your life.”

“Pretty sure a demon did that, long before you were making choices of your own.” Sam leans against the dresser, hands in his pockets. “Rage and hate all you need to, but then get your head out of your ass. Help us figure out what we’re going to do next. In case you missed it, we have a bigger problem than a shitty college apartment burning.”

“That’s it? You’re gonna just forgive me, like that?”

“You keep saying that you led them to me. I’m the one who chose to send Bobby an announcement. One demon in the right place--”

“Your fault doesn’t actually make me feel any better.”

“Tough shit. You good, or you gonna make me deal with a bunch of strangers on my own?”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

* * *

 

Ash waves briefly from the grill top when Sam reemerges from the hallway behind the kitchen. “Ellen, Jo, and I had to get back to work. Holler if you need anything.”

Sam nods and takes a deep breath before pushing back into the backroom. Bobby and Cas are bent over something at the front of the room, leaving Jess alone where they’d been sitting earlier. She glances up when he comes in, sighing silently. Dropping a hand onto her shoulder, Sam squeezes for a brief moment before turning away to pull a few books from the shelves.

“Apocalypse shit has never been my favorite,” he says quietly, double checking that the copy of Kelley’s diaries he hands her has been translated before sighing and grabbing the _Key of Solomon_ , dropping it carelessly on the table. “But it’s a popular topic at least.”

“This is what you do? Search through old books and hope that something you can use comes to light?”

“Pretty much,” Dean answers. “Sammy, do you’ve got--”

“It’s Sam,” he cuts Dean off. “I’ve got Solomon, Jess has Kelley.”

“This is easier than researching for a case.” Dean runs a finger along the spines of the books Bobby brought with him before finding the one he wants. “We don’t have dead bodies piling up while we try to figure out what kills the monster.”

“Except my parents. And everyone else who was in that restaurant.”

Sam winces at Jess's tone-- she’s pissed-- but decides that he might as well let Dean take the sharp edge of her anger and grief.

“Except for them,” Dean says easily. “A few dozen people died who should have lived. Which is sad, and terrible for their families, who are alive to bury them.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“The apocalypse, Jess. All six billion some-odd people dying because some feathered dicks couldn’t get it through their damn skulls that this is our planet.”

“Sacrifice a few to save the rest? Is that really what you’re saying, Winchester?” Jess pushes up out of her chair, towering over where Dean sits, blinking up at her.

Dean breaks first, glancing down and away. Sam thinks Dean makes eye contact with Cas, but it doesn’t last long enough to tell.

“If you two idjits are done shouting, maybe we can get some work done?” Bobby asks wryly, staring at the three of them. “Those books aren’t going to read themselves.”

“Yes, Bobby,” Sam says quietly, bending over the mixed Hebrew and Latin of the text in front of him. Dean and Jess echo him and settle down.

Dean disappears after a couple hours, reappearing long enough to drop food on the table before ducking back outside. When he doesn’t come back, Sam goes looking for him, only to find him behind the bar while Ellen and Jo deliver food.

“We’ve lost Dean for the night,” Sam says when he heads back to their little hideaway. “He’s playing bartender.”

“Ah, hell.” Bobby tosses his hat on the table and runs his hand through his hair roughly before pulling his hat back on.

“We’ve got time, we’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know that we do,” Cas says slowly. “If Sam and Dean are captured by Heaven or Hell, all our work will be for naught.”

“Why us?” Sam asks. “We’re not--”

“You’re Lucifer and Michael’s vessels on Earth.” Cas fidgets with his coffee cup, still mostly full. “That was the whole point of Azazel’s program-- to find Lucifer’s true vessel and make sure it was properly tainted.”

“Vessels? Vessels for what?” Sam blinks. “Wait, you said something about that earlier.”

“Angels can no more interact on this plane in their true form than demons can. At most, some can hear and understand an unvesselled angel’s voice, but very rarely anything beyond that. Any interaction of the sort that we’re looking at requires a vessel, most often from a very specific line.”

“So you’re _possessing_ someone? Nice to know that Heaven and Hell both follow the same tactics.” Sam scoffs and moves ‘find anti-angel warding,’ to the top of his mental to do list as he shoves away from the table to loom over the angel. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Demons don’t have consent-- that’s one of the reasons it’s so trivial to keep them contained.” Cas looks down, fidgets with his borrowed shirt, before responding, “Angels must have consent to inhabit a body. More than that, I released James’ soul to Heaven when I took up residence.”

“So you took over his body and then killed him?” Jess spits out. “Did he even know that was a possibility?”

“He was going to die, locked in a comatose body with no motor control. I gave him the chance to say goodbye to his wife and daughter.” Cas’s face hardens. “I am not my brothers, I do not take without need.”

“Whoa,” Dean says from the back of the room. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Ask your angel friend,” Jess says, spinning on her heel to leave. “He’s no better than the rest of them.”

“Cas?” Dean steps aside to let Jess pass. “What’s she talking about?”

Bobby jerks his head and Sam nods, abandoning the room to Dean and Cas. He doesn’t need to see that fight.

 

Sam follows Jess outside, pulling her close when she stops. Night has fallen while they were locked in the tiny box of a room and the parking lot has filled up. More hunters and truckers it looks like-- he doesn’t see anything that looks like a family vehicle. He leads her over by the Impala where it sits in the dark, away from the lights on the exterior of the building.

Sam suspects Dean knows exactly how far away to park to avoid those lights and questions.

Jess buries her face in his chest, hiding away. “I don’t-- How can they be like that? That’s not holy.”

Sam huffs, reaching up to pet her carefully. “This is the first time in generations that angels have even been seen. Dean’s always said they weren’t real, despite the lore on them.”

“The lore is wrong.”

“Yeah, apparently. I’m sorry, babe. This sucks and is horrible and I have no idea how to make it up to you.”

“I don’t think you can.”

Sam feels his heart stop. If she wants to get gone, he’ll make it happen-- she’s always deserved better than him and--

“But I’m stuck with you. For better or worse, right?”

“What?” he croaks out, heart going a mile a minute. “I mean, yes. Of course, yes.”

Jess sucks in a breath and blows it out before settling more firmly against him. “In that case, Samuel Henry, you should tell me all the things you left out over the last four years.”

“Are you sure? It’s a long story and--”

“I don’t care. I need something else to think about for a little while.”

“Alright.” Sam settles more comfortably against the Impala, the warm steel of her trunk soaking into his back. It’s not perfect-- he can feel a headache forming-- but it’s more than he ever thought he would get. “On November 2nd, 1983, a demon snuck into my nursery…” He tells her everything. All the family secrets he’d been taught to never reveal to an outsider, all the the times he wished he ran away, the times he did, _everything_.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, after the crowd has mostly disappeared either to the motel up the way or their truck cabins, Jo sticks her head out the side door. “You ready to get back to work yet?”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, just a moment,” he calls back. “Feeling better?”

Jess groans, stretching her back along the rear window where they’ve curled up on top of the Impala’s trunk. “I… needed that break. Thank you.”

Sam leans over, kisses her softly. “Anytime you want to take a break, just let me know. This is… overwhelming.”

“Yeah. It is.” Jess slides off the trunk and waits for Sam to catch up. “So what’s on for the rest of the night? More research?”

“Probably. Unless something that can’t wait happens.”

“What then?”

Sam shrugs, pulls the door open and gestures her in. “In all likelihood? You and I stay here and research while Dean takes care of it. I’m out of practice, you’re not trained. The only question is if it’s Cas, Bobby, or Jo that he partners with.”

Jess thinks for a moment before nodding. “Cas’ll be his first choice, unless he’s not here. Probably Jo after that.”

“Not Bobby?”

She shakes her head, but refuses to explain her reasoning.

Jo is mid-yawn when they reach the backroom, sending off a chain reaction around the room. Cas is the only one who’s not completely wiped, and even he is showing the last few days. Sam nods in greeting before reclaiming his seat. “Still looking for ways to stop the apocalypse?”

“And kill a demon,” Dean says. “We know his name now, I want him dead.”

“Yeah.” Flipping open his book, Sam rubs his temples and starts reading. The stress headache he’d managed to avoid earlier is back with a vengeance, twisting letters and making already slow going even slower.

Jess notices-- always somehow aware of when his headaches start tipping towards migraines-- and moves behind him, trying to massage it away. She pauses when she gets a glimpse of what he’s reading, leaning over his shoulder. “Oh. No wonder you never had trouble with your language requirements.”

Sam shrugs. “Written anyway. Spoken is hard when you’re used to dealing with dead languages.”

Dean laughs. “One of these days, you’re going to summon a buffalo instead of grounding a witch.” He leans forward. “Never let him be in charge of casting the spell. Intent matters for a lot, but his Latin and Gaelic are awful.” His hand drops below the table as Cas shifts, practically pulling the angel on top of him.

Sam raises an eyebrow in surprise. He wasn’t really expecting Dean to forgive Cas that easily, but apparently he is. Sam’ll need to get the full story of that out of someone (Ash, probably, since Jo doesn’t trust him) soon.

The entire table erupts into teasing about pronunciations. Jess gently runs her nails over the back of his neck, pulling him back out of his head. At least he’s not the only one whose language skills leave something to be desired. Ellen shows up after a few minutes and drags Bobby out of the room, haranguing him about a hunt that had gone wrong a while back, something about Chinese dialects.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Dean is whipping his attention to Jo. “Where’s the pool stand on the two of them? I want that knife you promised.”

Ash rolls his eyes. “No change. Until one of them moves, nothing is going to happen.”

Jo and Dean trade insults for a few more minutes while Sam and Jess read. Cas is fidgeting with the notebook in front of him and Dean, looking as uncomfortable as Sam feels. Eventually, everyone settles down to reading, even Cas. Near silence reigns for a while, broken by pages turned and notes scribbled with crappy pens. Sam’s headache is getting worse, but he doesn’t want to be the first one to quit. Instead, he just pours himself yet another cup of coffee and swallows some painkillers. Past experience has taught him he has about another two hours before he has to give up on maintaining functionality.

Jo calls it quits first, unsurprisingly. Slamming her book closed, she looks around the table. “Are we making any progress?”

Sam looks up and shakes his head, wincing. “Do we want to summon any given entity? But that’s as far as I’ve gotten. Nothing useful.”

Jess inhales sharply before following suit and closing her book. “We’ve got two problems. One of which has a deadline, nebulous as it may be. We’re dealing with that first. The other, murdering the fuck out of the fucker who killed our parents? That comes later.” Dean makes a small noise of dissent. “Nope. Revenge is great when it’s you, your car, and your gun. When humanity itself is in the balance? We push aside our personal bullshit and deal with it later.”

Cas looks around the room. “If it matters, I suspect dealing with Azazel will happen in the course of preventing Michael and Lucifer’s fight.”

Dean blows out a breath across the table before nodding. “Right. Keep the world from ending first. As long as we don’t have to work with him, I think I can manage that.”

Cas looks puzzled. “Why would we work with demons for this? And you certainly wouldn’t be coming in contact with Azazel, it’s far too dangerous.”

Jess cocks her head to the side, looking at Dean’s book intently. “Maybe it’s the three AM talking, but… Uh… God isn’t showing up because he wants all this to happen or he’s fucked off to parts unknown. Or something, whatever. He can’t be bothered to control his kids. Is there any reason we can’t call their mom?”

“Huh?” Sam asks.

Jo immediately starts smirking, “Because when you’re being a shit to the younger kids on the street, that’s the first thing they do.”

Ash is nodding along, “My brother got his ass tanned more often than not because someone’s mom called ours.”

Sam’s glad that Dean and Cas are looking as clueless as he feels. “Um… what?”

Jess is getting excited about this now. “Kid rules. You can do whatever you want… as long as Mom doesn’t find out. Dad doesn’t matter, he might yell at you, but everyone else will be fine. If Mom finds out, _everyone_ gets in trouble.”

Dean frowns, looking around the table. “But is there anyone with that kind of clout who’ll be on humanity’s side? I mean, yeah, we’re the littlest kids on the block, but last I checked, God didn’t have a wife.”

Cas looks thoughtful, “The Host does not have a mother. But perhaps Mary? She doesn’t intervene often, but the Catholic church did get that much right.”

Sam leans back, something about this feels familiar. “When was the last time she intervened?”

“Joan of Arc in the fifteenth century. She was young, scared, and facing something infinitely larger than herself. I suppose Mary felt a kinship.”

Sam nods slowly. “The anti-angel warding. You mentioned something about that.”

“Yes. Mary couldn’t unmake her as a prophet, or change the past. But she could, and did, keep angels from finding her, providing relief from constant prophecy and terror.” Cas looks down, shifts a bit closer to Dean’s chair. “If there is anyone left that the Host will respect and has the power to… control them… it is her.”

Dean blows out a breath. “Okay. So we just need to do… what? Summon her, tell her what’s happening, and get her to ground her kids?”

Jess, Jo, and Ash glance at each other before Jo answers, “Best idea we’ve had so far.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam says. “Maybe the first seal won’t break. But summoning Mary? Let’s go with that for plan B, and hopefully it won’t blow up in our faces.”

“Your confidence is overwhelming,” Jo says dryly, trading out one book for another. “How will we even know if the first seal breaks?”

“I will know,” Cas says, glancing around. “Prophecy is very loud.”

“Alright,” Dean says. “We’ve got work to do.”


	7. Chapter 6

An hour later, Cas has disappeared on an errand and the rest of them are drowning in ancient texts and modern translations. Sam loses track of everyone as they move and shift, trading rooms or just stretching. The sun is almost up when Sam sighs and pushes the books away. “I need… something. Else. Out of here.” Everyone left makes some sort of agreement and they spend a few minutes exhaustedly picking up their mess.

“There’s rooms in back,” Jo points out. “So you don’t have to sleep in the car. But we’ll need to go through the front.”

Sam yawns and nods, closing his eyes briefly before stepping outside.

The headache he’s been fighting all evening slams down as soon as he leaves the warded room. A tidal wave of pain pours over him, dropping him to his knees in the middle of the kitchen floor. He barely has time to cry out before the vision slams into him.

 

* * *

 

Sam comes to slowly, the ice pick pain retreating from his temples. He recognizes Jess's hand in his, familiar rough spots rubbing over his knuckles. He leaves his eyes closed, not wanting to deal with the light sensitivity. “Jess?” he drags out. “What happened?”

Jess lets out a sob, squeezing his hand tightly. “Hey, babe. You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” Cautiously, Sam slits open his eyes, waiting for wherever they are to make sense. He’s not-- This isn’t their apartment, or Brady’s. Did he pass out in the library?

Gunshots shatter the quiet. Sitting up, he takes a second look around, waiting for things to slot back into place. Dean, Demons, Roadhouse. “What’s going on?” he demands. “Where’s Dean?”

Jess swallows, glances towards the door before looking back at him. A fresh volley of gunshots fills the room before she has a chance to say anything. Jess flinches before visibly steeling herself. “You, uh, collapsed unconscious almost as soon as we left the room.” She glances at the door again. “While we were focused on you… I don’t know. All of a sudden we were surrounded. Jo helped me get you in here, but the others…” she trails off.

Jess sounds _wrong_ , more scared than he’s ever heard her, even when facing down shit she never should have seen. That she’s scared now… what could possibly frighten her now if nothing else has? He watches her watch the door, follows her arm down to where she has a shotgun lying across her lap.

The ragged gunfire lulls outside, quickly followed by near frantic pounding at the door. Dean falls through the door as soon as Jess opens it. Dean looks like he got into a fight with a weed whacker: he’s covered in thin slashes, not deep, but bleeding freely. Jess doesn’t even wait to get the door closed and locked. She’s cursing the moment she sees the shape Dean is in, grabbing a roll of paper towels from the shelf to try to stop the bleeding.

Sam freezes as the image clicks. This… he dreamed this. Not even thirty minutes ago. But if this is happening now…

He pushes the residual headache aside. He’s already failed to save too many people. He’s on his feet, Jess's shotgun in hand, before she and Dean can react, jerking the door closed behind him.

The scene in the dining room is straight out of his vision. Ghosts everywhere, Bobby’s cornered by a pair of twins, and Jo and Ash back to back over by the pool tables with shotguns and a fire poker.

Before he can get a better grip on what’s going on, Jess's dad appears in front him, ghost pale. Sam drops his gun without thinking.

Rich is on him, hands extended into claws before Sam remembers that Rich and Karen are _dead_. Rich’s hand digs painfully into Sam’s chest, fingers wrapping around his heart and squeezing. “You _knew_. This is your fault. You knew we were going to die.”

Oh, God, it hurts. It’s almost enough to send him to his knees.

Dean swings a fire poker through Rich like a bat, scattering him into smoke. Sam sags in relief, rubbing at his chest while trying to get his breath back. Jess wraps an arm around his waist, supporting him until he’s steady.

Glancing around, Sam tries to take stock-- all the ghosts are gone, but no one looks happy about it. Jo and Ash glance around, waiting for another attack while Bobby slumps, nearly motionless, at a table in the corner. Sam shoots Dean a questioning glance as they separate, but Dean just shrugs.

“I don’t know, man.” Dean cuts himself off, shakes his head. “Let’s get everyone safe and then--”

Sam and Jess nod before moving to cover Ash and Jo as they stagger towards the kitchen and safe room. Dean takes care of Bobby, carefully prying him out of his seat and pushing him towards the backroom.

Jess stiffens besides him, the flicker of a ghost reforming behind Ash. “Behind you!”

Sam takes aim, but there’s no way he can avoid hitting Jo and Ash from where they are. Jo is already turning and swinging her fire poker in one smooth motion. Ash stumbles away from her, clearing the line of fire even more.

Another flicker to their right. These ghosts are _pissed_. Another flicker, another shot. Jess is yelling beside him, encouraging Jo and Ash to get a move on, get someplace safe. Dean and Bobby are already behind them, nearly to the safe room door. The ghosts keep coming. As soon as Jo and Ash are behind them, Sam starts retreating after them. What the fuck is happening?

A hand grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him backwards, into the safe room, before Sam even realizes that he’s at the doorway.

Sam collapses into a convenient chair, struggling to catch up with the last few minutes. As soon as he gets his breath back, he’s surveying the room, Dean next to him doing the same thing. Sam counts, and then counts again. “Where’s Ellen?” They can’t have lost someone, not to fucking ghosts, not like this, not in her own bar…

“Deep breaths, son,” Bobby orders with a hand on his shoulder, before Sam can properly get out of his seat. “She went to make the night deposit. She’ll be fine.”

“Oh. Ok.” He sits back, waiting for the adrenaline to subside, watching Jess and Jo argue quietly about the best way to wrap Ash’s wrist, Dean pours a couple fingers of whiskey into a mug that he hands to Bobby.

Sam knows that combat is as much a skill as anything, and he’s four years out of practice, but this still isn’t sitting right. His head and chest are pounding in counterpoint to each other, making it nearly impossible to follow any given line of thought to its conclusion.

Something about Rich… Sam replays the attack again. And again. There was something different about Rich-- the scar on his wrist. “Jess, did your Dad have a scar on his wrist?”

Her voice is hesitant, “I don’t think so. If he did, it’d be a new one.”

“But it’d be from a household accident or something, right?”

“Well… yeah…”

Dean grabs one of the notebooks that still litter the table, “Did it look like this?” Dean sketches for a moment before sliding it down the table.

Sam glances at it before nodding. “Yeah, that looks about right.” He angles the paper towards Bobby. “Any idea what’s up with that?”

Bobby still looks pretty shaky, but he’s working through it. “No idea if you idjits have seen it. But--” he staggers to his feet and starts searching the stacks of books he brought with him, “I have.”

It only takes a moment for Bobby to find it, flipping through some text on the types of ghost. “The Rising of the Witnesses. Victims of unnatural deaths may be forced to rise as part of the Christian Apocalypse. ‘A powerful spell, when worked by the appropriate demon or witch, will cause these ghosts to go mad and attack the protectors who failed them. Witnesses of the supernatural, when forced to rise, will be branded with the symbol of the dead.’ It goes on for a bit, but this is it.”

Dean leans against the bookshelf near the coffeemaker and speaks up from the depths of his coffee cup. “How do we settle ‘em back down? There’s gotta be a way to do that without treating them as standard ghosts.” He swallows heavily. “There’s not anything left to burn for some of them.”

Sam realizes that he never did catch sight of whoever was aiming for Dean. He’d always been behind Sam or still in the safe room. Who is haunting Dean so bad that he’s reacting like this? No hunt from their childhood has ever involved burning the victim.

“Gotta deal with the thing raising them first.” Bobby meets Dean’s eyes, unreadable. “The counter’s gotta be cast over an open flame. Once that’s done, they’re standard ghosts that should disappear on their own.”

Jo looks up from where she’s cleaning a cut on her arm. “Stove’s gas. We can use that, right? Open flame is open flame, fireplace or stove.”

Bobby looks thoughtful for a moment before shrugging, “I don’t know why it wouldn’t work. You keep the ghosts back, make some more salt rounds.”

There are nods from around the room before Bobby grabs one of the ubiquitous notebooks and starts translating. This shouldn’t be too bad, spellwork is one of the things Bobby is best at. But the hours start to drag and across the salt line, the ghosts start to gather.

Jo and Jess take up stations by the door, throwing the occasional handful of salt or iron buckshot at the ghosts, a vain attempt to keep the doorway clear. The ghosts just keep coming, and the time before reformation is getting shorter and shorter. Sam’s been relegated to making more salt rounds. Ash helps as much as he can with a broken wrist.

Dean makes a series of phone calls-- all short, many of them unanswered, with increasingly worried voicemails-- before he slumps down in his chair, bent over to better stare at the floor and fidgeting with his phone. Sam knows that look, Dean’s worrying about something, God knows what, trying to convince himself that it’s unneeded. He’s seen it on Dean’s face for weeks at a time when Dad’s hunts went long. Sam finishes the current shell and drops it into the box before moving next to Dean.

“You don’t need to worry so much. Everyone in this room can take care of themselves.” He’s probably unnecessarily quiet given how loud the room is, but Sam doesn’t want Dean to shut down out of fear of someone overhearing them.

Dean drops his head even further. “This group isn’t the one I’m worried about. Nearly half my contacts didn’t answer the phone at all, and the ones that did were laying salt lines as fast as they could. It’s like these things are targeting hunters.”

Sam’s silent. Over the past couple of days, it’s become obvious that when Sam disappeared and Dad… did whatever he did, Dean integrated himself into the hunter community. Abandoned by his family, Dean formed a new one and only some of it is safe in this room. “What about Cas? Can he check on them?”

Dean shakes his head, the tension in his shoulders ratcheting up another notch. “We never got him a phone.”

“Have you tried praying?” Sam wrinkles his nose, “I mean, it’s only one way, but--”

“And say what? The stupid human you’ve been sharing a bed with needs you to check on his friends because they’re not answering their phones?”

Sam really tries not to smirk, but he fails. “Sharing a bed? Really?”

“That’s your take away?”

“That’s the part I’m going to tease you about.” He leans back in his chair, tilting his head back further to see if that eases the headache. It doesn’t. “Hopefully, we’ll get this taken care of fast enough that everyone will be okay.” Sam pushes out of the chair and drops a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Castiel too. He said his errand might take a few hours.”

“Right. Nothing to worry about.” Dean grimaces. “Whatcha got, Bobby?”

“Nothing terribly exotic, although I sure as hell hope you kept that hunk of uranium I lent you a few years back.” Bobby starts to list off components on his fingers. “Hemlock, wormwood, opium-- the real shit please, none of this manufactured bullshit the kids are using.”

Dean nods, pushing to his feet to paw through a box. “Herbology is top shelf, third section from the door. Opium…” he trails off. Sam barely catches the self-conscious glance in his and Jess's direction. “Opium is in my stash, trunk of the Impala.”

Jess drops her container of salt to the floor, turning towards the shelves. She quickly finds the appropriate box and drags it down.

Ash lazily raises his bad hand, tapping salt down in a shell with the good one. “My stash is closer. And I owe Dean some anyway.” He leers at Dean’s back and the back of Dean’s neck turns red. Sam blinks and decides he doesn’t want to know.

Jess pulls several jars out of the box, examining each one closely. “Dean, your handwriting is shit. Couldn’t you have printed these or something?” She keeps a couple out and tosses the rest back in the box before sliding it back onto the shelf.

“Next time you create a research room from scratch with what you can scrounge up hustling pool and poker, you can make the damn labels.” Dean thumps a wooden box onto the table, a little bigger than two packets of ramen stacked together. “There’s your uranium, Bobby. Don’t get cancer.” He gestures at Jess to meet him at the head of the table.

Jess's foot catches the salt canister when she turns and sends it spinning across the floor. It hits Jo’s fire poker, knocks it from where it’s resting against the wall near the door. The poker falls in slow motion, landing across the salt line and scattering it. Sam’s too tired, too slow to do anything to stop it.

The room erupts into chaos.

The ghosts are inside immediately, flickering to life in front of their targets, rabid and snarling. Sam has time to watch Jo grab one of the shotguns and open fire on the girls who were menacing Bobby earlier, clearing the doorway.

He grabs Ash’s arm with one hand and scoops up a spare crowbar with the other. “C’mon. We need to _go_!” Ash looks vaguely ill, but nods, taking the lead. Sam’s grateful for the earlier tour, he can drag Ash in the right direction until he breaks out of his shock. Ash’s trailer is just outside the back doors, not terribly far.

They get maybe four steps from the backroom before there’s a ghost on them, screaming about missed hiding places. Sam barrels through with a slash of the crowbar. Ash finally shakes off his freeze and starts running, fast enough that Sam has to stretch his legs to keep up. Another half dozen steps and Rich is there. He doesn’t reach for Sam again, just pacing them.

Ash dives into his room as soon as the door is open, overturning the chair he appears to use as a closet in his rush to get to the dresser. Sam catches a glance of Ash pulling the middle drawer out and flipping it over, scrabbling at a pill bottle taped next to one of the rails.

“It’s your fault we’re dead, you know.” It’s almost conversational, Rich standing in front of Sam while he guards the door to Ash’s bedroom. “All you had to do was change our dinner plans, and Karen and I would still be alive. Instead, we roasted. Trapped by a fallen table, the air turned poisonous, and we roasted, slow. How many other people died the same way?” Sam takes a half-hearted swipe with the crowbar. Even when he’s being threatened, it’s hard to convince himself to hurt any civilian. “How many of your parents are going to burn, Samuel?”

Rich explodes into smoke as Sam opens his mouth to respond, peppering him with salt pellets. Jo raises her shotgun in a half-assed salute before rushing back towards the kitchen. Her voice carries back, “Just shoot ‘em, Sam. No time for anything else.”

Ash holds up the bottle in triumph. Sucking in a deep breath, Sam leads the rush back to the kitchen, hoping Bobby’s got his end of things under control.

Sam stops trying to avoid his ghosts, focusing purely on getting Ash back to safety. Hands tear at his shirt, trying to rip his heart out just like he ripped out theirs.

“Sam, drop!”

Sam drops on instinct, dragging Ash down with him before he’s even consciously processed Dean’s order, feeling more salt blast over and past him. Ash pushes back to his feet immediately, sprinting the last few feet back to the kitchen.

Bobby has already started the counter-spell, sharpie on steel countertops and a big mixing bowl. Jo is starting the stove, the flames on the burners going as high as possible, while Jess is laying a salt line around them both. Sam accepts the shotgun that Dean offers to trade him, bringing the stock to rest on his shoulder.

His knee hurts, his head throbs, and he’s more scared than he’s been in years. But, Sam realizes, he’s also got a grin to beat the devil plastered on his face. He shakes it off, meeting Jess's eyes, before shooting yet another ghost in the face. It’s easier to ignore them here, in bright lights and surrounded by his family.

Bobby’s voice rises in a crescendo behind him with a split second of near silence before the finely ground ingredients go up in flames.

The ghosts forming behind Dean stop, returning to smoke and vapor.

It feels like a string has been cut, the adrenaline starting to drain out. Everyone sags against the nearest counter, near silent, trying to catch their breath and come down from their combat high. Jo reaches over and exhaustedly turns off the stove. Bobby breaks the salt line while making a beeline for the industrial sized coffee maker in the corner.

Jess reaches across the aisle to grab Sam’s hand, pulling him over to her. He stumbles over, turning them so she can bury her face in his chest. She’s not crying, not yet, but she will be as soon as some of the stress bleeds off.

Jess mumbles into his chest, “Was that Dad?” Sam nods silently, kissing the top of her head. “I’m not going through this again. We’re figuring out who the fuck is causing all this and killing them.”

Sam nods again, what else can he do? He wants to fix it, but there’s no way to fix this, and she knows too much now to ever be content going back to civilian life. He meets Dean’s sympathy filled eyes over her head. Dean nods, slowly.

Jo pushes herself away from the counter a few minutes later, surveying the kitchen. She glances at the clock above the door and the spell components scattered over the counter and stove. “I don’t even care right now. I’m telling Mom it’s okay to come home and then going to bed.”

The group breaks up, wandering off to the spare rooms at the back of the building.

Sam steers Jess into one of the rooms-- between Ash and Bobby-- and stays until she’s asleep, sprawled across the bed still in her jeans. Dean hovers for a bit before Sam’s glare penetrates and he retreats back to the hallway. Dean heads out to the parking lot, where his duffle is waiting by the Impala.

“You’re leaving?” The words are out of Sam’s mouth before he can censor them. Dean has other people… of course, he’s leaving them here.

Dean just looks confused though. “What? No. I’m crashing out here. No beds left.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Jess. Can she hack it?”

“We can’t keep her out. Not now. Her parents are dead. Really, she’s probably more fit to be hunting than I am.”

“Alright. I had to ask.” Dean breathes out a sigh before sagging against the side of the car.

Sam looks over at him, Dean’s not relaxed at all. “Dean, where’s Cas?”

Dean shakes his head, “I don’t know, dude. I tried praying earlier, right as the salt lines broke, like you suggested. But nothing.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if I did it right. ‘I pray to the angel Castiel to come give us a hand with these ghosts’?”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like anything Jess ever said while praying.” He yawns, reaching down to rub some of the soreness out of his knee. “He’s a big angel, he can take care of himself. Get some sleep.”

Dean nods and fishes his keys out of his pocket, bending down to snag his bag. “Something about this isn’t sitting right.”

There’s a near-soundless pop behind them that has both of them spinning around, reaching for guns they don’t have. Cas staggers towards them, nearly falling. He’s covered in cuts, each glowing brightly, like his true form is exposed through them. Dean, somehow, manages to catch him before he faceplants. Sam is a second behind him, helping lower Cas to the ground.

“The third seal has broken,” Cas gasps. “Heaven is coming. We must hide.” He presses a hand firmly against Sam’s chest.

Sam’s ribs suddenly feel like they’re breaking and being set on fire at the same time. He holds back a scream, barely, bowing forward.

The wave of pain passes and Sam meets Dean’s glance. As one, they pull Cas’s arms over their shoulders and head back to the Roadhouse.


	8. Chapter 7

Bobby wakes up as Sam and Dean stumble over the threshold to the safe room, Cas slung between them. He grumbles at the intrusion until he realizes that Cas hurt, then he clears the table in record time and takes Dean’s place supporting Cas while Dean scrambles for the first aid kit.

Years of practice take over, and Sam lets Bobby support Cas’s dead weight while he helps Dean clean things up. The three of them work in near silence to bandage Cas up. Dean stitches the worst of the cuts without Cas even twitching. The rest of them they take care of with lots of gauze and some butterfly bandaids.

“Are we even doing this right?” Dean frets, peeling the packaging away from yet another gauze pad for Sam to hold in place. “What if that’s not his true form, but poison or something?”

“Looks like blood,” Bobby says, reaching up to adjust Cas’s head and neck. “Acts like blood. Best we can do is treat it like blood.”

Sam reaches up, drags a finger across one of the spills on the table. It burns against his skin, buzzing, but doesn’t seem to seep any deeper. “He’ll be fine, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t believe him, waving Sam off in favor of cleaning up the mess they’ve made. “Go to bed, Sam.”

Sam nods at the rebuff, watching briefly as Dean shoves a wadded up flannel under Cas’s head as a pillow and pulls a blanket from somewhere to cover him.

* * *

 

It was already well after dawn when Sam collapsed into bed, so it doesn’t really surprise him when he wakes up mid-afternoon. Jess curls more firmly around him when he stretches, so he doesn’t try to go anywhere just yet. Whatever is happening outside their door, it can wait for a little while longer.

Jess starts stirring in earnest a few minutes later. “Is there coffee?” she mumbles.

“Probably.” Sighing, Sam wraps his arm around her shoulders and squeezes, burrowing further down the bed and rolling over to face her. “How you feeling this morning?”

“I have no idea.”

“Coffee? Food?” Sam offers, kissing her. “Something else?”

Jess snorts. “As good as taking some time away and a couple of orgasms sound, I’m sure there’s people waiting on us.”

“Screw ‘em,” Sam mutters, ducking down to kiss behind her ear. “They can keep waiting.”

“What has gotten _into_ you this morning?” Jess asks, giggling.

Plastering an obviously fake pout on his face, he lifts his head to meet her eyes, reaching up to push her hair behind her ear. “I’ve missed you.”

“Love you too.”

They spend a while longer curled up with each other, ignoring the world outside of their borrowed blankets, until her stomach rumbles and his bladder refuses to be ignored any longer.

The others either aren’t awake yet or have scattered to the winds, leaving the two of them on their own for coffee. Despite everything that’s going on, the mood stays light. Jess puts some music on her phone while they wait for coffee to brew in the kitchen and they dance around, teasing each other. It’s just like any Sunday morning at home. Until it’s not.

Sam snags a handful of creamer tubs and drops them on the counter before turning around to wrap Jess in his arms. “Hey, what’s up?”

Jess shakes her head and buries her face in his chest. Bewildered, he kisses the top of her head and hugs her until she’s ready to talk about it.

It doesn’t take long, maybe five minutes, before she’s retreating and brushing her hair out of her face. “Sorry, momentary freakout. I’m better now.” She sips her coffee, grimacing at the flavor.

Sam passes her a couple packets of sugar and a creamer. “I love you. You get to freak out about this occasionally.” He takes a drink of his own coffee before shoving more cream into his shirt pocket and grabbing her hand. Jess automatically grabs the pot off the burner as he leads her into the dining area. This too is part of their weekly routine, coffee and chatting on the couch about everything.

They drop into the booth that’s unofficially become theirs over the past day, redistributing coffee, cream, and sugar. “Jess, your world pretty much exploded last week. And you’re handling it far better than I would ever expect you to.”

Jess nods, stirring her coffee with her finger. They're quiet for a moment, trying to get their feet under them after a short night.

“Would you have ever told me? If things hadn’t gone wrong?”

Sam blows out a breath. “I don’t know.” He shrugs before reaching for his coffee again. “Maybe. Probably. I mean, eventually you would have gotten fed up with how little you knew about my past. And if it was tell you or watch you walk away? Telling you everything, hands down.” He huffs a laugh, “Probably still would have watched you walk away, but there was a chance.”

Jess quirks a smile, “I’d wondered. You always got so tense whenever our families came up. Brady is-- was-- convinced you’re in witness protection or something.”

“Close enough. I mean, I ran away for good reason. Or they felt like good reasons at the time.” He falls silent, looking around the Roadhouse and the odd little home his brother had found. “We didn’t have this growing up, it’s all Dean. We had Bobby and a few of Dad’s other friends. The number one rule was ‘do not tell anyone about what we do.’ A lifetime of habit is hard to break.”

She nods, reaching across the table to hold his hand. “I don’t know that I would have believed you, not without the evidence.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Sam squeezes her hand. “I would have eventually. Something would have come up, Dean would have found me or a hunt would have dropped in my lap. I would have had to tell you. Otherwise, you would have followed me and ended up getting hurt or something.”

“I’m pissed. Do not mistake this for anything else. But…” She trails off. “But I forgive you. Living this life? I can see why you would want to leave it all behind.” Her hand spasms in his as she looks around the bar before taking a sip of her coffee. “Even with all this, I still see my future with you. So… you might as well start explaining who Sam Winchester is. Because I have no idea.”

Sam blinks at her. “Jess, marry me. I’ll explain everything else before we get there, but will you marry me?”

Jess blinks right back before dissolving into laughter. “Pour me some more coffee and we can discuss.”

He scoots around the table to pull her close, still laughing. “Always and forever.”

Jo wanders in not long after, moving carefully and carrying a second pot of coffee. She eyeballs the two of them where they’re cuddled in the booth before shrugging. “How long have you two been up? You’re way too awake after fighting off monsters for most of the night.”

“Technically, they were ghosts.”

Jo rolls her eyes at Jess as she collapses opposite them. “Technically, nothing. And I know I heard something happening in the parking lot last night after we all were supposed to be in bed, so what the fuck was that?”

Dean’s voice startles all three of them. “It was Cas dropping back in.” He snags Jo’s mug for a drink before handing it back. “Sam and I have mobile anti-angel warding now, but I’m not sure what for.”

Jess frowns, thinking. “Probably because some of the other angels are getting ready to come after you. I wonder why he didn’t just do that to begin with?”

“I’m not sure it’s anti-angel as much as he’s hidden us from all angels?” Sam shrugs. “It seemed to take a lot out of him, which is why he didn’t do it earlier.”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know. He barely stirred all night, but the wounds I didn’t bandage are all healed up, so there’s something still at home.” Jo and Jess look a bit puzzled about the idea of an angel needing bandages, but Dean carries on. “I’m starving. I’m going to go make breakfast. Is there anymore coffee?”

Jo waves towards the kitchen. “On the burner. We’ll come help.” She slides out of the booth to follow, grabbing the empty mugs as she goes.

Sam drops a hand onto Jess's thigh before she can get up. “Hey. You okay? We okay?”

“Of course we are, and of course I’ll marry you. Let’s get some food in us and see what else is going wrong this week.”

Breakfast doesn’t take very long. Jo, Dean and Sam have all worked in diner kitchens before and Jess regularly helps out at family gatherings. Dean and Jess argue over ham or bacon while Sam dices some green peppers and onion. Jo looks at the two arguing, glances at Sam, and starts browning off sausage. By the time the others are done arguing, she and Sam have most of a decent breakfast hash done and are waiting for them to get with the program.

The good mood carries over, setting aside plates for Ellen and Bobby. Dean dithers over putting aside some for Cas before finally just biting the bullet and doing it. Either Cas would eat it or someone would have seconds.

Sam kicks the girls out of the kitchen afterward so he and Dean can do the dishes. “Go get cleaned up. I know you want a shower after last night.” Jess looks at him strangely, but goes willingly enough.

He and Dean are silent while they finish the last of the dishes.

Sam swallows. It’s now or never, who knows the next time it’ll be just the two of them. “Dean, I…” He swallows again. This might be worse than taking the LSAT. “Dean, I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.” He rushes it, too nervous to make sure he’s understood. “I shouldn’t have dropped off the face of the planet, should have at least made sure you knew I was alive and okay.”

Dean shrugs with one shoulder, still facing the sink. “You did what you needed to do. Dad--” he sighs. “Dad would have dragged you back if he knew where you were.” Dean jerks his head towards the safe room, pouring more coffee into a mug. “C’mon.”

Bobby is dozing in one of the chairs around the table, chin resting on his chest. He jolts awake when the door closes behind them, hand dropping to a pistol half-hidden on the chair next to him. “Boys.”

“Mornin’, Old man.” Dean leans over to check a few of Cas’s bandages while Bobby wakes up fully. “Ready to start the day?”

“Ready for you idjits to try to kill me,” Bobby shoots back.

Sam watches Dean hand over the cup of coffee and he’s on the outside again. Watching Dean seamlessly navigate the Roadhouse itself but also her inhabitants has left Sam feeling kind of adrift. Sam left and Dean found a family. He can apologize for how he left, but Sam can never be truly sorry when his leaving gave his brother this.

“Dean--”

Dean’s back stiffens where he’s poking at something on the bookshelves, stress bleeding back into his shoulders. Sam can’t figure out why though. “Leave it, Sam. You wanted out of this. Just… stay here until I figure out how to stop what’s happening, _please_ , and then you can go back to California. I won’t bother you again.”

Sam’s eyebrows skyrocket, “What? No! That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. Jesus.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Dean. I just wanted to apologize and ask a favor for when this is all over and done with. I abandoned you once, I’m not going to do it again.”

Dean flops down into one of the chairs surrounding the table, “What then? Because you weren’t exactly subtle trying to get me alone.”

“I asked Jess to marry me and I need you to be my best man.”

Dean stares at him for a moment before doubling over laughing, reaching over to pound the table before restraining himself. Bobby’s laughing too. Sam’s not sure he’s seen Dean laugh like this since he was a kid and still thought ‘pull my finger’ was funny.

“I don’t have rings or anything yet.” Sam’s grin turns sheepish, “I was hoping you would help me go shopping this week while you were visiting. Guess that won’t be happening.“ He frowns, “Most of the money I’d saved for it is gone now anyway.”

Bobby pushes to his feet from the chair and drops his coffee cup on the table near Sam’s elbow. “Don’t worry about it. I know where mine and Karen’s rings are. You can use them. If you want ‘em.”

“Bobby. I can’t…”

“You can and you will, idjit. Family don’t end with blood, remember? Not like I’m gonna be havin’ kids to pass them down to. As long as Miss Jessica likes them. Her opinion is a lot more important than yours.” He drops a hand to Sam’s shoulder and squeezes before leaving the room.

Sam feels a bit shell shocked. “So...uh… yeah. What do we do next? Stop the apocalypse?”

Dean shrugs as he looks over Cas’s still form. “No idea. Figure out why it was so important that you and I stay off Heaven’s radar? Find Mary?”

“We should get Bobby home too. No reason for him to be here if we’re just going to be researching.”

Dean nods, glancing over as Cas starts to move. “If angel airways is down, I’ll drive Bobby up. You and Jess can keep researching or take a break or whatever.” Cas’s hand flails upward, seeking contact of some variety. Dean grabs it, anchoring him. “Hey, Cas. You’re safe. Everything’s okay.”

Sam jerks his head towards the exit and takes his leave. There are some things little brothers aren’t meant to see and watching his brother cuddle an angel back to consciousness seems like it might be one of them.

 

* * *

 

Cas is restless when they reconvene, pacing and fidgeting, sucking down coffee like air. It’s different than before, more immediate and frantic. It takes a moment for Sam to realize what he’s seeing: Cas is acting like he’s human, or near enough. Sam immediately wants to ask what happened, but when he opens his mouth, Dean glares at him. So Dean knows what happened then.

“It’s further along than we thought.” Cas doesn’t bother to mess around, or ease into things. There’s a scant pause, waiting for everyone to catch up, “I don’t know how low it goes, but the garrisons have been recalled by their commanders, ordered to abandon posts we’ve been watching for millennia.”

Dean reaches over, takes Castiel’s hand, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. Sam thinks it’s as much for Dean’s comfort as Cas’s, but he doesn’t dare point it out, not when things are as tense as they are.

“It’s more than just angels of my rank being in the dark, or being recalled from their positions.” Cas takes a deep breath, “Lower level angels? As far as they know, there has been no change in Heaven’s policy or orders. The vast majority of Heaven is utterly unprepared for the coming war.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence before Jo asks, “What about your group, the pro-humanity angels. What are they doing?”

“There were never many of us, a few dozen at most. I…” Cas trails off, “I have not heard from them since I found the Winchesters. There have been no new orders, no additional information, nothing.” Cas’s hand tightens around Dean’s. “I might be the only one left.”

“What about the seals?” Sam asks. “Were you able to get a list or--”

“We have almost no chance at stopping them,” Cas says bleekly. “The Rising of the Witnesses was only one of fifteen seals broken. At this rate, they will all be broken by the end of the week and Lucifer will walk free.”

Sam tightens his grip on his coffee cup. An angel, three hunters, a hacker, and a couple college kids. It’s pushing at being too big to even process. But there’s no time for any of that, not if the seals are breaking as fast Cas is reporting. He takes a deep breath to push aside the panic. “Just as well we aren’t counting on help from anyone not in this room then.” Another deep breath, another moment to gather himself. “Were you able to get a list of which ones have broken?”

Cas nods, another human gesture he never made before this morning. “I copied them down for Dean earlier. If we divide the possible seals into categories: Heaven, Hell, and neutral, most of the seals that have broken are Heaven controlled or neutral. Very few of Hell controlled seals are broken or even in danger of breaking.”

“How did they break so many so quickly?” Jess worries beside Sam and he remembers that she was raised Catholic. This is her faith and childhood stories being bandied about like a cheap horror flick.

Dean shrugs. “The starting bell was hard to miss. Now it’s just a race to the finish line to see who gets pole position for the big fight.”

There’s a few more minutes of discussion, but it’s quickly apparent that nothing new is going to be discovered or discussed. Jess and Jo gather up Ash to look for more signs, to see if they can make more guesses about the seals that are being broken.

Bobby starts repacking the books he brought with him as soon as the discussion is over. “Feathers, you gonna give me a ride home today?”

Cas freezes, looking like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. “I… cannot. My grace is depleted and...” Cas trails off, closes his eyes in shame. “

“And?” Bobby raises an eyebrow impatiently.

“And… I have been declared apostate and sundered from the Host.” Cas reaches for the cup of coffee in front of him, wrapping his hands around it and cuddling it close to his chest. “I rebelled. If I will not Fall like Lucifer, or surrender my grace like Enoch, they will force me to make the choice.”

 _That_ would be the thing Dean had been warning Sam against asking earlier. Their angel is… falling.

“Oh.” Sam shrugs like it’s not a big deal. And it shouldn’t be. As long as Cas retains all his knowledge, his powers should not be a huge loss. But Sam can’t help but feel a bit let down and lost.

Dean wraps his arms around Cas's shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. Another thing that has changed, Dean being affectionate. “Anyway, Bobby,” Dean cuts in before things can get too dour, “I was thinkin’ me and Cas could drive you home, should only be about five hours. Let Sam and Jess get some alone time in. Or as close as they’re going to get around here.”

Bobby nods, looking a bit put out. “Works for me, boy. Get these loaded while I go double check some things with Ellen and Ash.”

It doesn’t take long for Sam and Dean to load the boxes into the Impala’s trunk, despite the tusselling that breaks out as soon as they’re out of sight of everyone else. Suddenly, they’re kids again, loading the car for Dad while he’s passed out on the couch, comforting in its familiarity.

Sam leans against the car again, the same position as last night. This is a simple run, the car is as well warded as they can make it without pulling off side panels, and Cas is going with them, but Sam is still worried.

Dean seems to feel it too, coming over to stand next to him, an easy going smirk on his face. “No worries, Sammy. While I get to drive Bobby home, you get to clean up the Roadhouse. Make sure you listen to any gossip they give you, hunters are better than a soap opera.”

Sam laughs as Bobby and Cas push through the doors. “I hear ya.” He and Bobby trade backslapping hugs and then the three of them are gone.

He trudges back inside, already dreading the monotony of more research. The list Cas had provided is a start, but any project of this scale is going to involve a lot of drudge work. He’s interrupted by the splat of a wet rag against his face when he walks into the dining room. Jess is laughing at him while Jo cheers from next to the mop bucket she’s swishing around.

“Ash is both really good at computerized research and rubbish at deep cleaning. Drop the sad face and grab a rag,” Jo demands.

Sam plucks the rag from where it is soaking his chest and raises an eyebrow. “Deep cleaning?”

“Mom closed us down for the day while we take stock of how many hunters we lost last night. But while she counts heads and Ash digs up police reports, we’re doing the cleaning we never get around to.”

Jess looks lost from where she’s kneeling, but doesn’t show any sign of ill-will or wanting to retreat to a quiet place. And it would be bad form to refuse to help after Ellen and Jo had offered up their home and business to them as a refuge. Sam nods at Jo before pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Any chance you’ve got a sound system we can jack into? It’ll go faster with music.”

“Just the TV and the jukebox. What you see is what you get, Winchester.”

Sam wrinkles his nose, dropping to the floor next to Jess. “I still can’t get used to folks calling me that again.”

“I can’t get used to it at all.” Jess squeezes his hand gently. “I mean, for three years, you answered to a completely different name, and that’s who you are in my head. I’m still getting used to this Sam Winchester fellow.”

“He’s not so different. Just…” He starts scrubbing the baseboard while he thinks of a way to explain it. “Sam Browning didn’t hunt monsters growing up. His mom died, Dad joined a church and handled snakes or whatever. Hunting monsters or joining a backwater church doesn’t really change much. Dean raised me and Dad resented me.” He shrugs helplessly.

“Why Browning though?” Jo breaks in, “Once Dean found you, Ash looked into your records. They’re _really_ good, as close to legal as he’s ever seen. But no one could figure out why Browning and not like Smith or whatever.”

“Alec did good work. For all intents and purposes, they are legal. Lots of those communities in the backcountry of the Appalachians don’t file paperwork on time for new births and deaths.” He smiles, “Browning… well, I wanted to keep a theme. It was Browning or Colt and Colt seemed too obvious. Also, Samuel Colt? Nah.”

“But not Smith or Wesson?”

“As just me? No. If Dean had come with me, yeah. Smith and Wesson.” Sam falls silent, remembering how close he’d come that first year to dropping out and finding home again.

Jo snorts, but stays silent otherwise. Sam and Jess return to their share of the scrubbing and silence reigns for a few minutes.

“Sam, did you ever ask Dean if he wanted to get out?” Jess's voice sounds vaguely irritated, but he can’t figure out why. “You had your reasons. And they were _good reasons_. I’m not denying that. But, God, Sam. You’ve taken enough psych classes to know that if your dad was…” Jess trails off.

Sam knows what she is aiming for anyway, with the added benefit of having actually lived it. If Dad was a drunk borderline abusive bastard to him, Dean probably had it worse. And Sam had left him there. “He was twenty-two, he could have gotten out at any time. Could have walked away and no one would have stopped him.” Both girls are staring at him like he’s an idiot. “What?”

He can hear the disdain in Jo’s voice, “ _You_ stopped him, Sam. He couldn’t abandon you and couldn’t take you with him until you were eighteen. He was stuck, even if he wanted to get out.” She leans over to rinse out her rag. “Dean is an amazing hunter. I don’t think he did want out. But he could have done without feeling like he failed you in some fundamental way.”

“How’d he meet up with you all anyway?” Sam gestures around the bar. “I mean, this is totally his sort of place, but you’re kinda in the middle of nowhere.”

“Oh, he needed a hacker to help hunt down something or another. I never got the full details, too young according to Mom. But he showed up here, needing Ash’s help. Pretty sure it was Elkins or Turner who sent him out this way.”

“Probably Elkins. Never heard of a Turner, but Dad spent a lot of time with Daniel Elkins out in Colorado when we were little.”

“Sure,” Jo shrugs. “Rufus is a hoot. I think you’d like him. At any rate, Dean took care of that monster… and came back. Kept coming back. Dean was twenty-three, hunting by himself, and hadn’t seen you or John in four months. Soon enough, he was here often enough to jump behind the bar if Mom got behind or back me up as bouncer.”

Sam nods. What else is there to do besides to keep scrubbing?

They have the dining room cleaned from top to bottom with only the final mopping left by early evening. Sam’s not seen Ellen in hours, not since she dropped a plate of sandwiches off on the bartop for their lunch, but her face hadn’t looked happy. He cleans and dusts, tightens screws on loose table and chair legs, fetches and carries. Anything to keep busy.

When the only thing left is waiting, waiting for Dean to come back, waiting for other hunters to check in, Sam slips a twenty into the till and helps himself to to a beer. The girls are next door, at the detached house where Jo and Ellen live, seeing if any of Jo’s shirts will fit Jess, Ellen and Ash are comparing names on their lists, and he’s sitting here like a chump. Because he checked his final grades and he is officially a college graduate. Years of work and effort and planning and he got what he wanted… right as he’s getting dragged back in.

Ellen slides into the seat next to him, passing a shot glass before taking one herself. “You look so much like your brother it hurts, kid. What’s got you down here instead of at the fashion show?”

“I uh… graduated college. Officially. I got out. And yet…”

“And yet, here you are, sitting in a bar, waiting for your brother to come home so you know he’s safe.” She downs her shot. “I can’t really help with that. He’s a big boy, and he’s got that angel with him.”

Sam drinks his shot, following it up with a drink of beer. “I also haven’t drunk this much in years. Which doesn’t help. I just…”

“I’m not your dad’s biggest fan. But your brother? He will never let anything happen to you, or Jess. Every time Jo goes out with him, he does a better job at protecting her than himself. If you don’t want to come back, no one’s gonna make you. But you damn well better stay in contact this time. Because I won’t stand for him to be hurting again the way he was the last time.”

“Jo didn't make it sound that bad.”

“Jo was seventeen and harboring a crush the size of Alaska. She didn’t see anything besides a cute boy offering to help her learn how to hunt.” Ellen leans over the bar and pours them both a soda. “Elkins sent him this way theoretically for a hunt. Mostly, I think he just knew that Dean needed someone to look after.”

Before she can continue, Dean and Cas blow in with the first precursors of a thunderstorm. Dean doesn’t look worried though, holding hands with Cas as he saunters over to drop a kiss on Ellen’s cheek.

“So you got the old fart home safe?”

Dean steals Sam’s untouched soda and takes a drink. “Sure did. Got a list of books to look out for and a couple of weapons he says will be useful too.”

Ellen shoos all three of them out of the bar. “Go on, git. I’ve got calls to make and they won’t be easier with you all being here.”

Dean’s face falls. “How many?”

“Too damn many. And that’s not countin’ the folks who survived and didn’t start hunting.”

“Shit.” Dean runs a hand through his hair, dropping Cas’s hand to fiddle with Sam’s empty shot glass.

“We’ll figure it out later. You need to stop things from getting worse first.”

“Right.” Dean turns around, heading back outside. Cas follows immediately, but Sam takes a moment. All the joy has drained out of Dean’s shoulders, he’s tense and unhappy again. Sam sighs before trudging after them.


	9. Chapter 8

Sam dozes against the wall while Jo and Jess rummage through Jo’s closet and weapons. He’s not sure what their next step needs to be-- probably leaving the Roadhouse behind, in case Castiel was followed-- but it’s too much for him to deal with right now. No one else seems worried at least, so Sam lets himself slump into the wall.

Hours later, he wakes up with Jess leaning against his chest while a terrible comic book movie plays on the small TV. He groans as he shifts, ass numb and back stiff. Dropping a kiss on Jess's head, he looks around blearily. Jo is sprawled on her bed, looking like she regrets every choice in her life that lead her here. Dean is sitting on the foot of the bed, easily as entranced by the movie as Jess. Cas has claimed the desk chair, sitting forward and watching the screen intently.

There’s someone missing, he realizes as he comes back into the room “Where’s Ash?” he asks quietly. He’s sure Ash had been in here with them at some point--

“Oh, it’s Sunday night. He’s got a raid with his WoW friends.” Jo rolls her eyes. “Apparently, Rabbits In A Gray Hat are going to kick the ass of Chaos or something. I tuned him out last time he tried to explain.”

Sam nods and reclaims his seat. Jess barely looks away from the screen, leaning forward to allow him to slip behind her. A pillow smacks into his face, Dean dodging out of the way before Sam can even think about retaliating. He shrugs, tucking the pillow behind himself and gets settled again, falling back asleep in minutes.

_Sam stands next to a nondescript guy, shorter than him (everyone is shorter than him), watching a globe spin. He thinks he sees monsters at the poles and equator, writhing and crashing against land masses. Looking closer, the entire globe is covered in monsters straight out of medieval texts. The guy standing next to him pauses the globe, touches a finger somewhere in North America, and sets it spinning again. The next time it comes around, Sam sees a new monster where the other man had paused._

_“It’s a simple game, Sam. Set up monsters, watch hunters knock them down. Kept me occupied for centuries.” He snaps his fingers, “Still keeps me entertained, a new tabloid story every day. Occasionally, I’ll step up when monsters aren’t enough.” They’ve moved, the globe and room replaced with a library or maybe a museum._

_Sam gulps and nods. The library shifts, shelves flying by, exhibits and cases popping into existence for a brief moment and then popping back out. Other, more impossible, things happen on the peripheral of his vision: grey men appear, place a book on a stand, and then are beamed back up; dancing alligators; the Hulk lounging in a chair with a scroll draped across his lap._

_The other man snaps and everything freezes. A single book lies on the table in front of Sam, open to a list of saints and angels, arcane symbols decorating the page._

A door slams downstairs and Sam jolts awake. Blowing out a breath, he tries to reassemble the dream. It felt familiar, like one of the nightmare visions, but there was something else about it… He runs a hand through his hair and carefully pushes himself to his feet, trying to avoid waking anyone else up. He needs to write this down or talk about it or something, otherwise he’ll lose it. And whatever that symbol was on the list of saints, it feels like it’s both true and bullshit. No idea how that’s possible, but that’s certainly how it feels.

Dean and Cas must have abandoned Jo’s room in favor of one of the rooms at the Roadhouse, they’re certainly not in here now. Jess is curled around Jo the same way she always curls about him when she’s worried about something. He creeps out of the room and downstairs.

Cas is already in the bar when Sam gets there, drinking a soda. Sam nods at him before snagging a pen from behind the bar and sketching the design out on a cocktail napkin and a list of all the names he remembers from the book. Cas is, thankfully silent beside him, looking at the napkin curiously, but holding his questions until Sam is done.

“Where did you see this?”

“Some sort of dream. Felt like a vision, but didn’t have a migraine leading into it.”

Cas tilts his head, “It’s possible. If you were naturally clairvoyant, some dreams would still be true, even without the side effects. Your family history, it would not be uncommon for there to be some traces of ability.”

“So this isn’t related to the visions I’ve been having?” Cas shrugs and Sam is struck by how distinctly human Cas has seemed since he returned from his trip to Heaven. “What’s up with you anyway? You said that your connection to the Host was broken or something?”

“Sundered. Until they forgive me, any grace I expend will not replenish itself. It is…” he lapses into Enochian.

“Whoa. I missed most of that, but ok.” Sam gingerly reaches over and rests a hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“Angels do not change, Sam. They _can’t._ To change is to fall.”

“Dean’s not going to kick you out.”

“He thinks I’m useful right now. What happens when I’m not? When I am as powerless and useless as you?”

“Thanks, man,” Sam says sarcastically. “It’s not been made abundantly clear that I’m dead weight on this quest.”

“You are one of the few who are irreplaceable.” Cas twists around to look at him seriously. “You’re supposed to be the great general, leading Hell to victory on Earth before Lucifer and Michael take the field.”

“Great. Lead a demon army before becoming an angel condom. Gotta say Cas, that’s not much better than dead weight.”

“You’re refusing your destiny, Sam. It will take some time for the universe to adjust.”

They lapse into silence again. Snagging the napkin back, Sam tries to remember if he’s seen the symbol before. It’s similar to the angelic warding sigils that Cas taught him, but it doesn’t quite match any of them. It’s _important_ , but right now, his head is full of exhausted white noise. He shakes his head and pushes it away.

Cas reclaims the napkin and puts it aside. “Go back to bed, Sam. According to your brother, humans need a good four hours every so often.”

“ _He_ requires four hours every so often. The rest of us need six to eight most of the time.” Sam winces, adds yet another mental note to the growing list to get Cas used to standard human behavior. “Night, Cas.”

He thinks about going back up to Jo’s room, but the allure of a much closer bed is too much to ignore. He barely remembers to lock the door behind him before face planting into the mattress.

* * *

 

They spend more than a week like that. Researching or helping out in the Roadhouse all day and well into the night before Ellen shoos them to bed. It’s exhausting and backbreaking work of a sort Sam’s not done in years. But they get somewhere, slowly.

The rate the seals break slows-- Cas says they’ve done the easy ones, and now the only ones left have to be done on certain days or locations-- until Sam starts to think they might have a chance in hell at stopping this thing before it gets off the ground.

Bobby calls a few days later. “You boys ever remember hearing anything about a Colt that can kill anything?”

Sam frowns, staring at the phone. “Dad said something about it, a long time ago. But it was practically a bedtime story.”

“Elkins told me about it a couple years back,” Dean says, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. “He sounded pretty sure, but he was also drunk, so…”

“He got attacked last night,” Bobby says firmly. “So whatever he had was worth sending vampires after him.”

“I thought vampires were extinct.” Sam glances over at Dean. “Because hunters killed them all.”

Dean shrugs. “There’s been rumors the past couple of years, but I’ve not seen ‘em.”

“Neither has anyone else. Except Elkins. Who swears up and down he sent John Winchester a package with that gun six, seven, months back.”

“Why now?” Sam asks.

“He was hopped up on pain meds pretty good, but from what I got out of him over the phone? An angel told him to.”

“One of Cas’s friends?” Sam glances over at Dean to see what he thinks. Cas is around somewhere, probably working with Jess to improve her combat skills, but he’s remained closed mouth about the other angels on the pro-humanity team.

“Maybe,” Dean says dubiously. “I’ll ask. Doubt we’ll get an answer though.” He leans back in his chair, tipping it back on two legs. “Any clues on where Dad stashed it?”

“You know your daddy stopped talking to me ten years ago,” Bobby scoffs. “You’ve got as good of an idea as any of the rest of us. Probably better.”

Dean drops his chair back onto all four legs, frowning. Sam can’t read his face, some complicated emotional gymnastics, but Dean takes a deep breath and his face smoothes out, hiding whatever he’s thinking. “I’ll start making calls then. We’ll find it.”

“I’ll keep looking, see if I can find anything else that might help.”

“Thanks Bobby,” Sam says before the line goes dead. “What do you think?”

Dean sighs and shakes his head. “I think even if the Colt can kill anything, we’re a long way from knowing what to shoot.” Pushing himself to his feet, he stalks out of the room.

Sam watches him go, frowning, before going to look for Jo. She’s still his best, least guarded, information source for what happened in Dean’s life while he was at school.

* * *

 

Dean wakes them up at dawn the next morning, shouting for them to get a move on.

“What the hell?” Jess demands, rubbing sleep from her eyes while she answers the door. “You couldn’t wait until real morning?”

“We’ve got a lead,” Dean says. “You don’t have to come, but I need Sam.”

“Like hell,” she spits. “I’m not a fucking damsel, Winchester.”

“Alright.” Dean raises his hands and takes a step back. “Wheels up in five.”

It’s closer to ten minutes before Sam stumbles into the backseat of the Impala, clutching a piece of toast and a travel mug of coffee that Ellen had mercifully pressed into his hands before pointing him out the door. Dean starts to grumble about it but Cas hushes him and they get on the road.

The coffee takes effect slowly, to the point where they’re most of the way to Lincoln before Sam feels ready to demand answers. “Why couldn’t we wait until a reasonable hour to head out?” he asks. “It’s really fucking early.”

Dean shoots a glance over to Cas. “Ash woke me up this morning. He only put the pattern together last night, since no one died, but there was angel signs all around the Roadhouse last week.”

Sam goes cold. He hadn’t worried about his dream, because Cas didn’t seem worried but if angels are somehow tracking them...

“Uh… So I had freaky dream vision thing the other night.” Jess slips her hand into his, lending silent support even though she has no idea what’s coming. “I don’t know if the warding failed or if he overpowered it or what. But I’m pretty sure it was an angel.”

“And you didn’t wake us up? Jesus, Sam!”

“Cas was still awake! If he didn’t seem concerned about my dreams, why wake everyone else up?” Sam keeps hold of Jess's hand, squeezing it instead of his brother’s neck. “I don’t know, Dean! It was weird! Not like one of the visions I’ve been having. It felt real, but there wasn’t any pain.”

Dean glances up into the rearview mirror, meeting Sam’s eyes. “Did your visitor have a name or anything useful?”

“I’m sure he has a name, but he didn’t share it.” Sam snarks. “Shit. I wrote down the names and sigil thing I saw, but the napkin--”

Cas cuts him off. “Is safe. The sigil was the only information we didn’t previously have. The names listed are the names of the prophets from the second century through the seventh century. Even still, the napkin is in my bag along with some books I thought might be helpful.”

Sam nods, at least something useful came out of it. He pauses, looking for anything else to talk about, preferably that won’t involve getting yelled at. “Can we go back to why we’re fleeing something that happened last week?”

Dean shrugs, “Oh, that. Location spell puts the Colt in Kansas City. Dad has a storage unit around there so I figured we’d check it out, hopefully pick that up before anything else happens.”

Jess sighs beside him and reaches for her notebook. “Tell me about this gun. I need something to do and figuring out how it works is as good of a project as any.”

They fill her in over the next hour or so with as much information as they have and some speculation fueled by Dean and Sam’s experience. They just don’t know enough to guess what’s going to happen when they get to the gun-- if it’s even where Dean thinks it is.

* * *

 

Dean pulls off for gas a few miles north of Kansas City, pulling out a journal and flipping it open to the back while waiting for the tank to fill. Sam takes advantage of the opportunity to grab a cup of coffee before leaning over Dean’s shoulder to see what he’s looking at.

It’s a list of storage units, clear enough, under names that Sam vaguely recognizes as some of Dad’s aliases. What’s surprising the other information-- unit number, passcode for the gate, combination for the lock.

“Dad just… gave you all this?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Fuck no,” Dean snorts. “I had to steal Dad’s journal and copy it all down while he was passed out to get it.” He passes the journal to Sam after double checking the code for the gate. Sam takes it and pages through during the short drive.

It’s not just the information that has been copied out of Dad’s hunting journal. It’s a day by day record of hunts Dean did on his own or with other hunters, contacts, photos, everything. There are a few pages Sam recognizes as photocopies of Dad’s journal or Bobby’s, but with bits scratched out and corrections written into the margins. Sam had noticed Dean writing during the rare moments he allowed someone else to drive, but hadn’t thought it was anything like this.

They arrive at the storage unit pretty quickly, pulling around so they can make a quick getaway if needed. Picking the lock, Sam pulls the rolling door open so they can see inside.

It’s a mess: the walls are lined with shelves filled with boxes and car parts, leaving only the first few feet of floor space clear. Beyond that, there’s more shelves filled with even more junk. While Sam stares in astonishment, Dean is carefully stepping across the floor, gingerly placing his feet in only certain spots.

“Step careful if you come in, Sammy. There’s probably all sorts of traps set up in here.” Dean’s already around the corner of the set of shelves jutting out into the room.

“It’s Sam,” he says flatly, looking at the thick layer of dust. There’s no way he’s going to be any help in finding anything in this mess. Abandoning Dean to search, Sam watches the driveway outside. Cas and Jess climb out of the car to stretch, standing nearby and keeping him company.

Sam doesn’t think anything of it when a woman walks by on the other side of the alley. The timing is odd, but mid-morning on Monday isn’t the weirdest time to be dropping shit off or checking the lock on a unit. It’s not until Cas stiffens next to the trunk that Sam realizes anything is off. By then, it’s too late: the woman is already charging towards them with two more coming from the near end of the storage row.

She wraps her hands around his neck before Sam has a chance to shout a warning to Dean. Sam snaps his head forward, slamming his head into hers before jerking himself free. Her eyes are demon black when he looks back up, blinking away tears.

Sam sucks in a breath in shock before shaking himself and kicking her away from him. “Demons,” he shouts, hoping Dean and Cas hear him.

Jess shouts something back, kicking a demon in the face from where she’s standing next to the car. Dean shouts something too-- triumphant-- but there no time to decipher it.

The demon he’s facing feints a punch towards Sam’s midsection, catching him on the ear with her other hand. Sam doesn’t drop, not quite, but he staggers before he can get his balance back.

Another scream from Jess, yelling something that might be Latin he can’t understand in his daze.

Shaking his head to clear it, Sam slips free of the demon’s hold, kicking it across the threshold of the storage unit. He has a nanosecond to breathe before the air is shattered by a shotgun blast. The demon yowls, screaming as she takes a salt load to the face. She scrambles to her feet, reaching for Sam before she stops dead, the devil’s trap painted onto the floor and hidden by a layer of dust flaring to life.

Jess yells again, definitely Latin this time. Sam turns back around to see her finish climbing onto the roof of the Impala, holding Dean’s journal open and reciting an exorcism.

The demon nearest her starts to follow her onto the hood, stiffening as black smoke pours out of his mouth before she can complete the rite. The body drops, hanging off the car.

Cas delivers a particularly vicious slash towards the demon he’s fighting, driving him several feet towards Sam. Spinning, Cas makes a grabbing motion at the escaping demon, redirecting it back into its vessel.

The demon Cas pushed towards Sam straightens up, yanking his suit jacket back down, eyeballing Sam. Sam takes a step backwards and then another one. He doesn’t have time to be afraid, but something is very very wrong.

“Nice to see you again, Sammy,” the demon drawls, eyes flicking yellow. “Time to come along nicely and play with the other children.”

“Azazel,” Sam breathes. A headache flares to life behind his eyes, making him squint. “Fuck you,” he says stronger.

“That’s not nice,” Azazel tsks. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your father?” The demon darts forward, wrapping his hand around Sam’s throat and lifting him. Sam chokes, his feet just barely brushing the ground.

He grabs Azazel’s wrist, digging his fingers into the tendons. Azazel’s hand spasms, loosens enough that Sam drops back down.

Sam sucks in a desperate breath before balling his fist up and punching him in the stomach. “You’re not my father, asshole.”

“Aren’t I?” Azazel grabs Sam’s fist, trapping it and pulling him in close. “You can’t win, Sam. The end is coming and you will serve your purpose.”

“Sam,” Dean shouts from behind them.

Still held tight in Azazel’s grip, Sam struggles to turn them so he can face Dean. “Little busy--”

“No, Sammy. You’re not.” Azazel makes a complicated motion with his free hand and Sam feels his hand go slack, releasing its grip on Azazel’s shirt. “John broke after a century. We don’t have nearly that long for you, but then, we’re after something else than demon-hood, aren’t we?”

Cas and Jess yell in the background, screaming something that Sam can’t decipher. Dean shouts his name again and Sam twists around to look.

Dean fires the pistol.

Sam throws himself backwards, pulling Azazel with him and further into the bullet’s trajectory. It hits the demon in the back. An orange light explodes from Azazel, burning its way out.

Sam staggers, knees collapsing under him.

Dean catches him before he can do more than stumble. “Whoa there, little brother. You alright?” Sam nods, still trying to catch his breath. Dean turns them towards Jess and Cas. “What about you two? You okay?”

Cas looks as exhausted as Sam feels, leaning heavily against the car, a body slumped at his feet. He straightens when Dean looks over, but Sam can still see the exhaustion pulling at him. He looks worse now than he did when covered in cuts and bruises. Jess is still perched on top of the car, journal open beside her, looking around wildly.

Sam shrugs off Dean’s supporting arm before carefully approaching the car. “Jess. Hey, babe. You can get down now. You’re okay.”

She shudders, ignoring him in favor of watching the demon in the trap. Sam sighs before turning back around. He would much rather be hugging his girlfriend than dealing with another demon, but this is necessary if she’s going to calm down.

Dean hasn’t moved except to turn around to watch the demon. He’s still got his game face on, the one that promises death and destruction to anything that crosses his path..

Without a word, Sam and Dean walk the perimeter of the trap in opposite directions, double checking the demon really is contained.

Dean holds the gun out when they complete their circuits. “You want the honors?”

Nodding, Sam takes the gun and checks it over. He never thought it would be like this. Honestly, never thought they’d actually kill Yellow Eyes and complete what Dad set out to do. And now, the Demon is dead and they’re watching a pissant demon throw herself against the barrier, screaming obscenities and promises of retribution.

Taking a deep breath, Sam double checks the number of rounds in the revolver and takes careful aim. Firing doesn’t feel any different than any other gun, really, although the end result is definitely something special. The demon convulses as orange light shines out of the hole in her forehead, flickers like static electricity running across her chest and face.

Kneeling to investigate the damage, Sam catches a whiff of the blood. Instead of smelling of death and iron, it smells like Jess's cookies, enough that he wants to lick it. Catching himself, he shakes his head and hands the Colt back to where Dean is standing behind him.

“That was… weird. I need to get some lunch in me or something, man.”

Dean looks at him strangely, but extends his hand to give Sam a hand up. “Dude, you pick the strangest times to not be a princess.”

Standing, Sam surveys the storage unit. “I don’t know. I just… yeah.” He shakes his head again to clear it. “Anyway, this place is burned. Anything we need to get out?”

Dean contemplates for a moment before walking out to the car. “Nothing business related. I’ll get Rufus or Martin down here to get the curse boxes out before the locals can get into trouble.”

Sam nods. Most of the stuff he saw during his brief glances appeared to be junk or weapons. Unless Dad’s been holding onto something else without knowing what he had, none of it is probably worth much. At some point, he and Dean are going to need to run through all of Dad’s old storage lockers, move it all to a central location to be looked over, and then redistribute it.

He glances over at the car, where Jess has slid to to the ground so she can lean heavily next to Cas. They’re both orphans now, with three parents to lay to rest. Eventually. When all of this is over. They can go back to California, get her parents sorted.

Dean jostles his shoulder from where he’s been standing in the doorway, watching Jess and Cas. “Seriously, dude. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just… I don’t know.” Sam shakes himself, abandoning his post to pull Jess into a hug.

She winces when she shifts her weight to lean against him, but waves it away before he can pull back. “I fucked my knee when I kicked him, wasn’t expecting it to be like kicking a brick wall.” She looks him over critically, looking for anything worse than a bruise.

“I’m fine. A bit bruised, but ok.” He pulls Jess back close, wrapping himself around her as best he can while still standing. Sam turns them slightly, so he can watch for anyone approaching for the few minutes they can spare.


	10. Chapter 9

Sam’s almost giddy, trading astonished grins with Dean, who’s wearing the same look on his face while they clear up the bodies. They did it! Finished the family quest, avenged Mom, whatever. The Yellow Eyed Demon is dead and they’re… well, not free, not with the apocalypse hanging over their heads, but a damn sight closer than they were.

Sam pulls Jess away from where she’s leaning against the car and into Dad’s storage unit to check for anything they shouldn’t leave just hanging around. They don’t find much that can’t be left behind-- mostly weapons and curse boxes-- but Jess finds a box, covered in decades of dust, that looks like it’s been beat to hell and back, but never lost.

Photos. None of them are in albums, half of them are water damaged, but Sam recognizes the faces staring back at them.

“Your mom?” Jess asks, carefully pointing at one of the photos.

Throat thick, Sam nods hastily. “We never-- We never had many pictures of her. Dad had one, hidden away in his journal, but that wasn’t much.” Bundling them back into the box, he carries it out to the Impala where Dean and Cas are waiting. They don’t have time right now, but maybe when they have some breathing room…

Cas looks absolutely stricken when they come back outside, staring forlornly at the ground while Dean rests a comforting hand on his back.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks. “Did something else--”

“No.” Cas says shortly. “Nothing else happened.” He swallows, glancing up to meet Sam’s eyes. “We should go.”

“Cas,” Dean warns. “Tell them.”

Jess moves to stand next to him, wrapping an arm around Cas’s shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

“You’re out of grace.” Sam glances across the way to the storage unit with four bodies. “That’s all it took?”

“Shoving a demon back into a host body is against everything angels are taught.” Cas shrugs. “I chose poorly in the heat of battle.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam waves it off. “I’m more worried about what’s going on with you.”

“I have been removed from the Host already. It is only a matter of time before I am declared anathema.” Cas shrugs, hopelessly. “Eventually, we will be found and I will be judged.”

It hurts to see the despair on Cas’s face. He’s been quiet the past couple of days, but Sam hadn’t thought much of it. Cas hadn’t explained much when he said he had been cut off from the Host. And they hadn’t asked because Cas didn’t volunteer the information.

Sam pulls Jess into a hug, needing the reminder that he’s not alone. Sam wants more information, about the demon, about what being cut off from the Host means, who the other two demons were, but he bites back the questions.

Sam has no idea where to go from here. And he’s not sure anyone else knows either.

The hum of the nearby interstate is drowned out by slow clapping. “Castiel. Winchesters. You’ve been busy, I see.”

Sam pushes Jess behind him while Dean and Cas separate and spread out. Sam’s not entirely certain what’s going on, but the guy in front of them-- in a suit, pushing the older end of middle age and looking like every college administrator and department head that Sam ever wanted to punch in the face-- doesn’t look like he’s on their side.

“Zachariah,” Cas says stiffly, holding his hands at his sides.

“You have spent enough time interfering with our plans.” Disdain drips from every word. “Cease. Await Paradise like everyone else.”

Dean snorts before Sam can even begin to process the statement. “Your paradise seems to involve an awful lot of dead humans. Not sure I’m up for just letting that happen.”

“You don’t have a choice. When the last of the seals fail, then it will be your turn. But in the meantime, you and your brother will stop fighting, sit down, and _shut up_.”

Sam trades incredulous looks with Dean and Jess. Stepping forward, he tilts his head quizzically. “I’m sorry, have you ever met Dean? He’ll pick a fight in an empty house. Not gonna lie, Jess is just as stubborn.” Sam shrugs, forcing himself to sound nonchalant. “Besides, we can read the signs just as well as Heaven. You’re pushing this, to the point where you kicked it off without anyone being ready for it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Dean move, slowly, to cover Jess and Cas. “Of course we’re not going to stand down”

Before he can blink, Sam’s thrown across the alley and plastered to a wall. He struggles to move but can’t make any headway. Even breathing is a struggle.

“You are monkeys and abominations. You’re not going to do anything except what we tell you to do. We need you, true, but consent is flexible.”

“We’re not standing down and we’re not going with you, you prick.” Sam can only assume that Dean’s been frozen too, since he doesn’t immediately follow up with a punch, but that’s only a guess.

“Come with me? No. Don’t worry, Dean. I’m not here for you, or Sam. Not yet.” Smirking, Zachariah waves his hand, “Nor you, Miss Jessica. I am solely here for the traitor, Castiel.”

Cas flinches before straightening. He shifts, shoulders moving back into military perfect posture, visibly becoming the alien angel that invaded their apartment less than a month ago. It’s shocking, how much Castiel has become Cas in their presence, becoming more human, relaxing into his body instead of treating it like a puppet. And now that’s all gone.

Two more suit-clad figures appear with a woosh, pushing Dean out of the way so they can drag Cas away from the car.

“What would you have of me, Zachariah?” Cas is unnaturally still while he waits for a response. “Azazel is dead, yes. But not by my hand, and it is our right to destroy demonically twisted souls.”

Zachariah smirks. “You are working against prophecy, Castiel. That is enough to bring you back to Heaven, to bring you before Naomi. This prophecy though?” He smiles, cruelly. “Interfering with this prophecy is justification enough to cast you out entirely.”

Cas doesn’t react, although Sam thinks he sees a finger twitch. Dean bellows and fights to get past the invisible hands holding them. Jess actually makes progress, a heavy rush that gets her a full three steps before her legs crash under her, sending her to her knees.

Sam struggles fruitlessly to get free, to push forward to save his family. Dean and Jess continue to protest, yelling and struggling. At this point, Sam would almost welcome the police, any emergency response team that might frighten the angels into leaving, hell, even an overzealous security guard.

Zachariah snaps his fingers. Dean and Jess's protests are cut-off mid-word as they fall to the ground, chests heaving.

Sam tries to dart forward to help, but he’s stuck against the storage unit, pinned and unable to move, only able to watch as his brother and girlfriend choke on nothing.

“Brother, stop this!” Cas shrugs off one of the angels holding him, fighting to reach Dean. The other angel lets him go at a signal from Zachariah, allowing him to crash to his knees between them. Sam watches as Cas reaches out and touches both Dean and Jess. The light that Sam associates with Cas healing them flickers and dies, with no effect.

“It’s so hard for them to fight when they’re missing their lungs. It’s a design flaw, really.” Zach’s casual, discussing the death of two humans with less emotion than Sam shows looking at paint swatches. Sam watches Jess's face get darker as she struggles for air while Zachariah ignores them. “Submit yourself to judgement, Castiel. Or the humans will die.”

Cas lowers his hands to his knees, and nods. “Save them. After, I will consent to judgement.”

Zachariah sighs before signaling his henchmen again, watching as they grab Cas’s shoulders, forcing him to stay on his knees. When he is under their control, Zachariah snaps his fingers again. Immediately, Jess and Dean suck in huge breaths, their color slowly (too slowly) returning to normal.

Sam sucks in a breath of his own, ready to protest, when Dean croaks, “Cas, no. You can’t do this.”

Cas smiles, sadly. “I must. This is what happens when angels fight prophecy.” He closes his eyes for a long moment before nodding. “I submit myself to judgement.”

Something like triumph crosses Zachariah’s face before it returns to bland middle manager. “Hester, Efram, you are to bear witness.” The angel on the right, Sam has no idea which one, cuts Cas’s shirt, rips it further to expose his collar bone. “Castiel, you are removed from the Host, rejected from Heaven.” Zachariah raises his hand to Cas’s bare skin, bright light escaping around the edges. “Your name written over, your line extinguished. You are no brother to us.” He steps away as Cas sags between the other angels, a new burn on his chest. “It is done.”

“It is just.” The other angels drop Cas like he’s a bag of potatoes, stepping away and disappearing. Zachariah lingers for a moment, looking at Cas’s crumpled form, before turning and disappearing between one step and the next.

They all sag to the ground as soon as Zachariah disappears, breathing heavily before scrambling to get to Cas. Sam reaches him first, pulling him into his lap while frantically checking for blood or any other wound. He can hear Dean and Jess recovering, muttering imprecations against Heaven and Hell and everything in between.

Dean is there as soon as he’s fully got his breath back, keeping Cas’s head motionless in Sam’s lap while checking for a pulse and that he’s breathing. Initial checks done, he sags back, groping blindly for Cas’s hand.

“Is he alright?” Jess asks, still sprawled across the ground and breathless.

Dean nods, “Yeah. He told me this was a possibility, just didn’t think it would happen this quick.” He runs a hand through his hair. “As long as his vessel is alive at the end, he’ll be, well, not alright, but he’ll survive.”

Jess crawls the half dozen feet over to them, leaning against Sam’s side as she relaxes a bit. “Can we, like, never do that again?”

Sam barks out a laugh. “You kicked so much ass today, you know that?” He carefully reaches over to poke Dean in the shoulder. “My girlfriend has you massively outclassed.”

Dean snorts. “And she’s still out of your league.”

Sam shrugs, leaning over to kiss Jess. Dean’s right, but she’s stuck around this long.

Cas starts stirring, prompting Dean to lean forward, hovering over Cas. “Hey, buddy. How you doing?”

Cas sucks in a breath, looking around slightly panicked. “Dean?”

Sam’s trapped and finds himself watching Dean and Cas’s intertwined fingers to avoid looking at their faces. He’s always known Dean would love hard, but watching it so naked on his face is awkward as fuck.

He shifts Cas slightly, helping him sit up. It takes a few moments, but eventually, Cas is transferred to Dean’s side where they can hold each other up while Sam continues to hold up Jess.

“How ya doing, Cas?” Dean’s voice is rough.

Cas closes his eyes for a pained moment, before swallowing heavily. “I’m trapped. I can’t...” He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “I can’t feel anything.”

Dean’s face shutters, stiffening into a mask. He nods once, before pushing himself to his feet. He barely waits to give Cas a hand up, before heading for the driver’s side of the Impala.

Sam has a split second to review the entire conversation before he’s striding after Dean, breaking into a half jog and using his longer legs to get to the Impala before Dean does. Slamming the door closed, he leans against it, forcing Dean to actually look at him.

“Sammy, what the hell?”

Glaring, Sam asks, “No, Dean, what the fuck are you doing?” Dropping his voice, he gestures towards Cas, looking like a lost puppy. “Dude fucking _rebels_ , gets trapped in a human body, and now you want nothing to do with him? You’re ditching him because he can’t heal every boo boo you get? You’ve done some pretty scumbag things, but--”

“What? No!” Dean glances at Cas before dropping his gaze to the door handle. “He can’t feel anything right? Which I’m guessing probably includes--” he mumbles the last bit “--my soul.”

Sam can feel his eyebrows hit his hairline. “I don’t want to know what that means. You’re being an idiot, at least talk to him for Christ’s sake. Shut up, give me the car keys, and go apologize to your boyfriend.” He sticks his hand out, impatiently waiting for Dean to drop the keys into his palm.

Dean huffs, but he looks over to where Jess is supporting Cas instead. Sighing, he hands over the keys, and walks back over. Sam watches as Dean briefly says something to Jess before reaching down to grab Cas’s hand. Sam can see Jess's eye-roll even from here, before she walks away in an effort to give the other two some privacy.

Sam has an idea while everyone else is occupied. Unlocking the trunk, he stashes the Colt in the weapons storage before rummaging through his bag. By the time everyone is back to the car, Sam’s gotten everything set up and has slid behind the wheel.

He queues up Jess's favorite album first, the introduction to Privilege almost covering up Dean’s squawk of outrage. Jess grins at him as he peels out of the storage facility, reaching over to grab his hand.


	11. Chapter 10

Cas falls asleep before Sam has them on the highway heading south. Dean watches him from the backseat, looking worried.

Sam lets him stew for about fifteen minutes before distracting him. “What was up back there? You took forever.”

Dean looks startled for a moment before stretching slightly, “Do you have _any_ idea how many guns Dad had in there? There were at least three that matched what we were looking for on the first rack alone.”

“You shot a demon with a bullet… that you had no idea would work?” Sam glances up to meet Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “Are you insane?”

“It worked didn’t it?” Dean snorts. “I’m just glad that Dad painted that devil’s trap in there. Four demons is a bit much, even with an angel on our side.”

Jess turns slightly in her seat so she can see them both. “I was busy. How exactly did that gun work?”

Sam runs through the encounter again. “I don’t know. It’s like a mortal wound on the possessed also killed the demon. It was weird.”

Dean nods absently. “The whole situation was weird.” He leans back in the seat. “I don’t know how it worked, or how to get more bullets. The legends say Colt only made thirteen and we’re down to one.”

“Not terribly useful for taking down various monsters,” Jess agrees. “Well, I want to poke at it when we’re stopped for the night. If we can figure out what it’s made of, we can figure out how to make more.”

Sam glances over at where she’s frowning resolutely out the windshield. “Jess…” He flicks a look back to Dean in the backseat, where he’s pretending to find the corn fields interesting. “I don’t… We… This isn’t the life I want for us, for you. It sucked when I was a kid and I can’t imagine it will suck less as an adult.”

Her hand slides across the seat again to hold his. “I can’t _not_ help, Sam. Not now. There are things in the dark and I can help keep them there.”

A rush of inadequacy floods over him. Childhood terror and teenage frustration and adult worry mixing together. “I…’ Sam swallows, inhales deeply. “Can we talk about it? Later?” His throat is tight with emotion and while he doesn’t want to shut her down out of hand, this is literally his worst nightmare.

“We need to finish this crisis first anyway.” She squeezes his hand and settles back into her seat.

They lapse into silence again, watching cornfields turn into suburbs into city. Without thinking about it, Sam navigates to the catholic affiliated college in the northern suburbs of the city. Dean and Cas can find food and a place to stay while he and Jess do more research into Mary. The longer they go, the more it’s looking like plan B is going to become plan A-- and the rest of the alphabet.

Cas stirs as Sam turns off the highway and onto city streets. The nap, as broken by road noise as it was, helped a lot. He doesn’t look like he’s going to fall over anymore, less confused.

Cas blinks rapidly, his face falling after a couple seconds. “Oh. I--”

“You fell asleep. It’s a thing,” Dean says quickly. Clearly, he and Cas discussed what being cut off from the Host or removed meant at some point, but they didn’t see fit to share that information. Or, more likely, Dean didn’t want to share without Cas being conscious and able to help out.

Sam rolls his eyes, pulling into the McDonalds parking lot near campus.

They head back to the car once they have their food, using the trunk as a table when they have too many eyes on them inside. Considering they’re covered in dirt and dust, scrapes and blood, Sam can understand why so many people were staring at them. As they eat, Sam lays out his revised game plan for the rest of the day: find a motel where they can get cleaned up, then while Cas and Dean try to contact the rest of Cas’s friends, he and Jess will do yet more research for anything that can help.

Jess's face falls at the prospect of more research, although she tries to hide it.

Cas figures it out anyway. “Jessica, why don’t you accompany Dean and I? It will be useful to have a third person with us in case of emergency.”

Jess brightens immediately. “Yes. _Please_. Sam, sweetie, I love you, but if I have to spend one more beautiful day stuck in a dim room with books, I’m gonna scream.”

After they shower and change, Sam gets dropped off at the college library in his most ‘law school student’ clothes with plans for the others to come pick him up at close or when they’ve finished their task. Sam can only hope they enjoy their time summoning angels because someone needs to have a good afternoon.

He spends a few minutes glaring at the library stacks around him before getting started with the names on the list in his dream. Not every lead pans out, but the ones that do are impossibly useful. In a matter of hours, Sam’s found an illicit scan of a fifteenth century grimoire only found in the Vatican, along with transcriptions of the faded ink. Promises of safety from Heaven’s dogs stare up at him in archaic Latin. The appropriate sigils (conveniently drawn in the margins!) will prevent an angel from possessing a vessel, even if given consent.

Which, while convenient as hell, is also suspicious as fuck. Sam immediately double checks his steps, walking himself through his choices of search terms and books to grab to make sure there’s not been any overt influence. He can’t find anything-- every choice is logical-- but it doesn’t make him feel better. Things just don’t work like this, not for them, not for things like this.

Searching for Mary is harder. Most of the obvious search terms have been co-opted by Da Vinci Code conspiracy theorists, burying anything useful. Even the library’s stacks have more debunking the conspiracy theories than anything positive. In the end, he ends up researching by proxy: there’s nothing for his actual search, so he searches for barely related terms that might pull some of the same material. Sam finds more scans of more ancient texts, compares them with books that he has access to. Locates references to lore and texts that refer back to each other. It’s rough going, never even sure exactly what he’s looking for.

It’s late when he finds it, the security officer and the librarian both giving him stink eyes for staying so near to closing time. It’s a fragment from a lost saga,

> _And she called forth the Divine Mother with the sacrifices of the Egyptian church, wrapped in a woad cloth and scented with lilies. The Virgin came to her dressed as the Northern Barbarians, stretching forth her hand and drawing Mær under her cloak, protecting her._

Sam blinks the eye strain back, scribbling the information down before taking a photo of the page in case they need more context. There’s not much detail, but most rituals follow the same basic patterns, they can fudge what they don’t know. Or maybe Cas will be able to add more details.

He carefully puts the text away before leaving the library, the librarian glaring at him the entire way out the door. Smiling apologetically, he ducks out into the warm night, looking around for the Impala.

It’s creepy, wandering around an unfamiliar campus after dark. It’s just barely after nine and strangely quiet for a campus that caters to working adults. The longer he waits, the more eerie it becomes. Sam can hear the traffic on the roads that border the school, can see the city lights over the trees, but aside from a couple of cars in the faculty parking lot, there is no one left on campus. The silence is starting to get to him when familiar headlights sweep across him as the Impala pulls into the parking lot.

He hurries to the backseat, stumbling in surprise when he notices a huge dent in the door panel. “Shit, guys. Everyone ok?” It looks like they are-- no one looks broken anyway-- but the light is so dim, he’s not sure.

Dean’s shoulders are tense above the seat back, but he only grunts in response, slamming the car into motion as soon as Sam’s inside and the door is closed. Jess holds up her wrist. “Might have sprained my wrist. But I’m pretty sure that’s the worst of it, other than our Black Beauty.”

Dean’s showing no sign of contributing and Cas hasn’t stopped looking out the window. Frowning, Sam waits for someone to spill what happened.

Dean slams inside the motel room, snatching a bottle of whiskey out of his bag and whirling around. “How the hell do you know we can trust this guy, Cas?” He takes a swig of liquor, slamming it back on the table.

“What other option do we have?” Cas demands. “Gabriel is the inspiration of every angel to see more to humanity than monkeys playing in the mud.” Cas’s voice drops, Sam can barely hear him from across the room. “Because you trust me and should give me the benefit of a doubt? I thought we’d at least gotten to that point.”

Dean’s shoulders drop as he takes another drink. “It’s not that, Cas. I don’t like it. It feels an awful lot like we’re inviting Anakin Skywalker to the party.”

Cas tilts his head, “I don’t understand that reference.” Before Dean can respond, Cas drops onto the other bed. “We have to trust him.”

Sam interjects before Dean can restart the argument. “Uh… Gabriel. Archangel, messenger, told Mary God knocked her up, Gabriel?”

Cas considers for a moment, “There are other messenger angels, but certainly he proclaimed our Father’s Will unto Mary.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Sam’s eye widen as he looks back over to Jess.

Cas continues, undaunted. “Gabriel was one of the archangels present when Lucifer was cast down. Only Michael is more powerful. There is simply no way any angel of the second heaven will be able to change him.”

Reaching up to rub his temples, Sam asks, “How did this even come up? Last I heard, you guys were just going to check in with the other pro-human angels.”

“Cas is the only one left.” Jess stands up to pace. “That’s how they found us at the storage facility. We called in Hael to see if we could get some help since Cas is functionally human now.” She picks up Dean’s whiskey from where he’d left it on the table, taking a swig. “She attacked us immediately.”

“It’s my fault.” Cas looks up from where he’s studying the bedspread. “We’ve not been quiet or subtle about what we’re doing. My superiors were going to notice, call in every angel I had close ties to.” Dean shifts towards him. “When I… escaped, I was certain I had given them no information while captured. But now, knowing the angels that have been taken and their loyalties _adjusted_ , I wonder if I was simply allowed to escape.”

Cas collapses further into himself, guilt and sorrow showing across his face. Sam watches, helpless, as Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulders, briefly hugging him before dropping his hand.

“Cas, man, you say that the second heaven, whatever that is, can’t adjust an angel like Gabriel, but ya know, there’s other archangels in charge of those heavens. Can they, I don’t know, force him into it?”

Cas shudders, shaking his head. “Not if they can’t find him. He just… stopped appearing, around the same time Constantine converted. We searched, for decades, with no success. If Gabriel doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”

“Ok…” Sam drawls. “So, what? He showed up, kicked all y’all’s asses, and fucked off back to wherever?”

“No. He waited until we banished Hael, then stopped by to chat.” Dean sighs. “Said he was hurt that the big boys upstairs didn’t invite him to the kick off party. And in the same breath, offered to help us stop it from progressing any further while we figured out a way to shut it all down. Then he fucked back off, told us to call when we were ready.”

“Dean, even if we can’t trust him, we’d be idiots to turn down that offer.”

Pulling a hand down his face, Dean responds, “I know. But we have no idea how to shut it down. And what happens when he gets bored and fucks off to wherever in the fuck he’s been and everything starts back up?”

“So… get this.” Sam pushes himself off the bed, grabbing both his notes and the whiskey from the table. He passes his notes for the anti-angel possession warding over to Cas and Dean. Jess grabs the other notes, for summoning Mary, from where they lie teetering on the edge of the bed, flipping through them. “If I translated that right, sigils marked on the hands and feet should prevent an angel from taking over a vessel, even if they’ve got permission.”

Cas is paging through his printouts with handwritten notes in the margins. “This is very good, Sam.”

“But?”

“I’ve not seen anything like this before.”

“And I’ve never had research go this smooth, even when I was just writing papers for school.”

Cas nods while Dean and Jess continue to flip through pages. “It’s possible the information was imprinted with your dream.” He pulls the sheaf of papers Dean was looking at into his lap, shifting to sit cross-legged on the bed.

“Damnit, Cas. I was reading that.” Cas radiates indifference to Dean’s irritation. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Ok. So we can keep them from possessing our bodies.” Jess cuts in. “Didn’t we already need to consent?”

“Consent is _all_ that is required. It doesn’t have to be freely given. Coercion or even torture can be used just as easily. The warding on Sam and Dean’s ribs hides them, but won’t keep anyone out.”

Jess wrinkles her nose before returning to the pages in front of her. “But what I’m looking at doesn’t look like that.” She scans the notes on top. “This is… a summoning? For someone.”

Sam nods, taking the stack from her and flipping to a different page. “How to summon Mary. I think.” His confidence wavers as three pairs of eyes swivel to watch him intently. “I could be wrong. One of the earliest Christian communities was making offerings to the Divine Mother in Egypt. And then, someone in… uh… what is now Scotland summoned her with those same offerings and a few other things.”

Dean stares at him, all of them do. “So, while we were getting our asses kicked by angels, you actually solved all our problems?”

“I got us a base to start from. We can make the rest up as we go along.”

Dean nods, something indefinable in his eyes, before abruptly stuffing the pages into their folder. “Right. So, another couple of days to close this one up, and then you guys will be back off to California, I guess.” He stands, starts pulling on his jacket. “I’m gonna go… find a bar.”

Jess stands as well, right in Dean’s face. “Great. We’ll come along.”

“Nah, you guys don’t wanna do that. I just…” Dean trails off when Jess doesn’t move.

“You just want to go drink yourself stupid because this will be over soon and you think it’ll hurt less if you leave first.”

Dean just stares at her.

“Like Sam doesn’t do the same thing. Jesus.” Jess sighs. “Dean, we don’t know what we’re going to do. Stop pushing us out of your life before we leave.” Jess wrinkles her nose. “We’re here right now. Now take your jacket off and sit down. We’re all too tired to hit a bar tonight.”

Dean nods and does what she says. Sam sneaks a glance at Cas on the other bed, where he is shuffling the last of the papers into their folder. The angel has a small, satisfied smile on his face, strengthening whenever he looks at Dean. Sam quirks a smile of his own and leans back on his and Jess's bed.

A hand slaps over and grabs the remote before Sam can, flipping the TV on and switching channels for a few moments until a rerun of MacGyver comes on. There’s a chorus of thumps as Dean kicks off his boots, prompting the others to do the same. Sam relaxes as Jess curls into him and he can hear Dean and Cas do the same.

Dean and Jess manage to watch five minutes before they’re making fun of the science and costuming.

They’re midway through the next episode before Jess speaks up, “What are we going to do about Gabriel?”

Sam shrugs. “Trust him for as far as we can throw him, I guess. We need to see if what I found is meaningful first.”

She nods, burrowing her face into his shoulder and yawning. “In the morning.”

“Yeah, Jess. Nothing tonight.”


	12. Chapter 11

Sam’s the first one up in the morning while the others are still dead to the world. He lies still for a few minutes, hoping to fall back asleep, before giving it up as a lost cause. Pulling on his boots, he glances at the tiny four cup coffee maker and the accompanying pouches of coffee and shudders. No way in hell that’s enough coffee for all of them. That’s not even enough coffee for _him_.

There’s a convenience store a couple blocks away. Breakfast options consist of breakfast pizza or donuts, but those are still better than the motel’s paltry offerings of stale bread and near-expired yogurt. It doesn’t take very long for him to grab a pizza and four large coffees and head back to the motel.

The door swings open before he can figure out how he’s going to open it, and Cas catches two of the coffee cups before moving out of the way. They’re both silent as Sam sets the pizza and doughnuts down, pulling a handful of creamers and sugar from one pocket and napkins from the other. “Thanks, Cas. Wasn’t expecting anyone to be up yet.”

Cas nods and starts to shuffle Sam’s notes back into piles from where he’s spread them out. “I woke up when you locked the door. I thought I would do what I can with the notes you found.”

Nodding, Sam pops the top off of two cups of coffee. He adds cream and sugar to his, pushing the second over to Cas. “I was hoping you’d look at them anyway. Here, fix your coffee and have some food. I’m awake but won’t be up for Latin until I’ve had at least one cup of coffee.”

Cas hesitatingly sips the coffee and makes a face before adding some sugar. “It tastes completely different now.”

“What’s different about it?”

“It’s much more bitter.” He smiles slowly. “Less like molecules.”

“This is a lot worse coffee than we were drinking at the Roadhouse. Hopefully, we’ll be able to drag Dean into a decent coffee shop at some point, have you try out a few different things, see if you like it better.”

“The sugar helps.”

“Throw some cream in.” Sam pushes one of the tubs towards Cas. “Cream and sugar can’t completely mask shitty coffee, but they can make it drinkable. And some folks just don’t like coffee. Regardless of what Dean says, that’s perfectly acceptable.”

Cas wrinkles his nose, but takes a drink. Apparently, the addition of cream makes it even better since Cas relaxes back into his chair. They sip their coffee in silence, Jess and Dean slowly stirring to the scent of coffee and bacon. It doesn’t take very long for Dean to grumpily grab a piece of pizza and one of the coffees and retreat back to bed. Jess simply pulls Sam (and his chair) further from the table so she can sit on his lap.

Once the food is gone, Jess pops off his lap to race Dean for the shower. Dean lets out a half-hearted protest, but lets it go, choosing instead to come nuzzle at Cas.

Fed and caffeinated, Sam drags the folder over to him so he can look at Cas’s suggestions and ignore the display going on across from him. Sam pauses, boggles at that for a moment. Cas, sitting across from him with bedhead and a half-awake hunter in his lap, knows Latin first hand and God knows how many other languages.

Sam shakes the thought off, plenty of time to pick Cas’s brain later. Wiping down the table with a napkin, Sam pulls out the extra sheet, full of unfamiliar handwriting. “Cas? This yours?”

“Yes.” He takes the sheet, laying it on the table, well clear of any coffee with potential to be spilled. “The completed summoning for Mary. Mær’s ritual, while crude, has all the necessary components and should follow the same format as any other ritual of that time and place.”

Dean leans back, nearly overbalancing, “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

“She has always been selective about when she intervenes. Thousands of prayers every day and she has only intervened a few times since she ascended to Heaven.” Cas closes his eyes, a pained look on his face. “I don’t know if she’ll help us even if we do summon her.”

Sam blinks. Somehow, despite it being obvious, none of them had brought that up over the last several days. Summoning Mary was already their backup plan for a Plan A that never materialized. What do they do if Mom doesn’t call the neighborhood bullies to task?

Dean sits up straight, looking as stubborn as Sam’s ever seen him. “Fuck that. If she won’t help, we’ll find something else. This is our world, if Heaven and Hell want it, they’ll have to fight us for it.”

“Hell yeah!” Jess walks out of the bathroom, wrapping her hair up in a towel. “Why are we fighting?”

Sam can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out.

Dean just rolls his eyes after a few moments, “If Mary refuses to be summoned, we’ll just have to find another way.”

“Well, yeah.” Jess leans over, steals the dregs of Sam’s coffee. “I mean, if Michael and Lucifer can’t have their destined meat suits or whatever, they’ll bugger off for another few generations, right? Until the stars align properly again or whatever?”

“If Lucifer isn’t in his prison…” Cas trails off.

“Then he’ll be up here, wreaking havoc. I’m aware. But what other option do we have? Giving up? Fuck that noise. If Sam and Dean can’t act as vessels, then they’ll have to go to alternates. Another set of brothers, both capable of holding archangels, one of whom’s a cambion? That’s years, decades of work. It buys us time to find a permanent solution.”

Dean blinks. “Sam, kiss your girlfriend before I do.”

Sam smirks and stretches up to kiss Jess on the cheek. “So… how do we go about denying Michael and Lucifer their vessels?”

Dean taps the folder. “Didn’t you find a way yesterday?”

“Yeah, but it was… easy.” Sam shrugs. “I mean, I just started out with those names from that weird dream I had the other night and it all just… fell together. I want someone else to check it out before we fully commit to it.”

Dean nods and pulls the photocopies towards him and Cas. “Did you have a chance to send it to Bobby? He’s pretty good at deciphering this sort of thing.” He takes one glance at the printouts of faded ink before passing it off to Cas, keeping the transcriptions for himself.

“Nah. I don’t have his email.”

Dean nods again, absently, already fully engrossed in what he’s reading.

Sam pushes himself to his feet to go shower. Jess swoops in to steal it before he can even open his mouth.

Dean glances up at the sudden movement. “Hey, I was gonna steal that.”

Jess snickers while pulling the information they have on the grimoire towards herself. “You snooze, you lose, Winchester. And if I’m going to be reading over this crap, I demand a chair at the table.”

Sam smiles and backs away. Jess has her feet back under her, regained her sass and is comfortable enough with Dean to tease him. A smile on Jess's face after everything that’s happened? Worth every bit of teasing once Jess and Dean join forces.

When he reemerges, Dean’s moved to the bed, but Cas and Jess don’t appear to have moved much. Sam plops down on the end of the bed, next to Dean. “This gonna work?”

Dean holds up a finger, his lips moving silently as he finishes a passage. “Unless there’s something that’s not obvious? We got this.”

“I have concerns about how much this will hurt you.” Cas looks up from his pile of papers. “Being possessed by an angel was described by one of my vessels as being chained to a comet. This is destroying the anchors for those chains.” Cas looks even more shaken than Sam had expected.

“But it’ll work?” Sam asks, frowning.

Cas shrugs. “It’s madness. But it will work."

In the end, they settle on performing the ritual in an abandoned warehouse a few blocks away. There’s not really anywhere else to go for it. If they thought they had time, Sam would have suggested driving back up to Bobby’s or the Roadhouse-- someplace safe-- but there’s no time.

The morning news shows make it plenty clear that they’re running out of time. No one outside of the fringier groups have put together what’s going on, but eventually someone mainstream is going to put together what mass extinction events, blind fishermen, and a school shooting have in common.

It’s the stupidest lock in the history of ever. Which Dean details, at length, when he gets off the phone with an update on possible demon and angel activity. The only good news is that demon activity has dropped to almost nothing. Not that it really matters when angel signs are still showing up all over the place.

A quick stop at the grocery store to pick up some of the ingredients that they need to be fresh, and then they’re at the warehouse.

Sam fidgets nervously in the backseat, trying to hide how unsure he is. Privately, he’d put the chances of this working as designed at less than fifty percent, with a distinct chance of a couple of archangels blowing them to kingdom come for their presumption. Cas’s reassurances that the ritual he found is legit, that it will do what they need it to do, are doing nothing to calm the pounding of Sam’s heart.

They set up in an abandoned warehouse by the river, in an area weird lights will be ignored. The main floor still has dusty pallets of something, but the offices are clear enough to be used.

Sam pulls Jess against him while Dean and Cas set up some basic devil’s traps at the doors. Resting his head against hers, he takes a moment to just hold her. Soon enough, the warding is complete and it’s time to get started.

“At least it’s warm out,” Sam jokes as he strips off his shirt across from Dean. “Imagine doing this in January.”

“No thanks,” Dean shoots back.

Tossing his boots and socks aside, Sam inhales sharply and rereads the incantation, sounding out the particularly tricky bits. “Let’s kick it in the ass.” He adds the last of the ingredients to the bowl next to him before sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Soaking a bronze knife in a bowl of hot water, gin, and parsley, Sam grits his teeth as he makes the first cut on the top of his foot. He repeats the process for his other foot, slowly chanting the incantation. Dean does the same thing a few feet away.

Sam gasps at the bolt of pain that shoots through him when the first step is complete. Cas wasn’t kidding when he said this would hurt, Sam’s had broken bones that hurt less than this. Huffing a few times to keep the pain at bay, he tries to remember the next placement. Breathe.

Soak the knife again. Cuts on both shoulders, more Latin. Another bolt of pain, oh god, it hurts, he can barely grip the knife. He can barely think, can’t…

Head. Near the hairline. Sam’s vision is completely blurred, can’t make out Jess and Cas where they stand a couple yards way, can barely make out Dean and he’s only an arm length away. A deep shuddering breath, breathe through the pain.

The water on the knife, cut, Latin. Worse than any migraine, the pain nearly knocks him on his face when his spine collapses. He shudders on the floor for a moment, cold concrete dulling the pain, before slowly pushing himself back into a kneeling position.

Blinded by pain, Sam pulls up a mental image of where the bowl is, groping around until he finds it.

Quickly, before he is completely overwhelmed. Soak. Knife. Lick the sharp edge. Breathe out as his mouth fills with blood, more than he was expecting. Spit out the blood, somehow manage garbled Latin.

The pain intensifies for a brief, split second, before it disappears, all at once. The absence of pain is almost as overwhelming as the pain itself.

Dean’s voice is wavering, stuttering every couple of syllables. Sam wants to support him, hold him up until he’s done. But he’s not sure he can move that far at the moment. Dean makes it through on his own anyway, sounds like a sack of potatoes when he falls over.

As soon as they’re both done, Jess drops to her knees in front of him, knocking aside the bowl and knife as Sam falls forward, face planting into her shoulder when his legs cramp.

“Holy fuck, that hurt,” Dean says weakly, leaning against Cas.

Sam nods, mouth still filled with blood. Turning slightly, he spits again and sighs in relief when his mouth isn't immediately filled again. “Can we… not move for a few minutes?”

Jess snorts, hands on his shoulders, helping him rearrange so he can sit on his own. “Give me a moment. I have no idea what the first aid for blood magic is.”

“This wasn’t, technically, blood magic.” Cas sounds surprised, God knows why. “More of a literal and permanent rejection of any angel that might try to possess you.”

“I picked out a few root words in there. Something about feet?”

Cas nods, obviously trying to avoid disturbing Dean’s head on his shoulder. “Among others.”

“Adding Latin to the list of languages I should contemplate learning.” Jess gently runs her hand through Sam’s hair. He’ll do something about that in just a moment.

They’re silent for a moment before Dean pipes up, his voice steadier, “How about those painkillers?”

Jess laughs, softly, and pushes Sam up. “Sure thing, your highness. Anything else while I’m up?” She waves off the chorus of no’s, pushing herself to her feet and heading over to where they’d dropped a bunch of supplies.

Sam allows his head to loll to the side, watching her walk away, being deliberately crude. “Oh yeah, work it, baby.” Jess flips him off behind her back, but she’s smiling when she comes back over.

“What would you do without me?” She shakes a couple of pills out into his hand before recapping the bottle and tossing it over to Cas and Dean. She leans over and kisses his forehead.

Sam dry swallows the pills, grimacing as the bitterness of the aspirin combines with the blood/iron in his mouth. “Crash and burn, clearly.”

Sam can hear Dean’s eye roll. “Jesus Christ, stop being cute.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Jess shakes her head fondly as she settles back down next to Sam, turned so she can face Cas and Dean. “Any indication it worked?”

Sam can feel the blood draining from his face and Dean goes noticeably paler too, under the dirt and blood. Knowing what it feels like? There's no way he’s going to be able to do that ritual a second time. Sam would rather face down the entire horde of Hell with only the Colt and a single bullet than go through that again.

Cas looks more puzzled than concerned though, which is a good sign, Sam thinks. His hand slips down Dean’s arm to intertwine their fingers. “I had hoped that I would be able to tell. I’m not human after all, even if I’m no longer, strictly speaking, an angel. But it seems reading the soul-body overlap is beyond me.”

Sam blinks a couple of times before deciding it doesn’t matter. He’s not doing that again. He’s not going to let Dean do it again either.

Across from them, Dean shrugs. “We were going to summon Gabe next anyway. We’ll just add that to the list.”

Limping, Sam moves over to the pile of supplies to reset for the summoning. Dean joins him, grabbing the summoning spell ingredients while Sam sorts through the books they brought in with them. They already discussed bypassing the summoning and just praying-- Gabriel will probably show up-- last night, but they all agreed that they didn’t want to risk another angel eavesdropping and showing up uninvited.

Of course, even after the offer to help yesterday, it’s possible that Gabriel will change his mind. Or decide that they’re not doing things the way he thinks they should be done. This could just blow up in their faces and take them back to square one.

Sam flips through the appropriate text as he heads back to the group. Cas and Jess are drawing a new sigil on a piece of paper while Jess makes annotations about specific elements. Wandering over, he tries to understand it: there are elements in common with the sigil Cas taught him to hide them from angels, but not all of those elements, and some are present here that aren’t in that one.

Cas glances up from where he’s kneeling on the floor, “Banishing symbols. I should have taught this one to you as well.” He points out the edge symbols. “It needs to be drawn in blood, human or angel. The entire thing can be drawn ahead of time and activated by refreshing the blood on the central glyph.”

Sam nods, blinking and memorizing the symbol. They’ve learned more in the last month about warding than Sam had ever realized there was to know. “Not demon or animal?”

Cas shrugs. “No one, to my knowledge, has tried it. This _is_ blood magic, and freely given with consent matters. Demons, being sentient but inhabiting another’s body, maybe. Animals…” he shrugs again. “Probably not if it cannot give consent.” Cas pauses, twitches his fingers. “Nothing you’re likely to have around can provide consent. Gorillas, chimps, some corvids, dolphins maybe.”

“Right, sure.” Sam shakes himself, backing away from them and walking over to where Dean is setting up the summoning. “Jess will have a banishing symbol set up, I guess.”

“Yeah. Cas said something about that last night. Just in case this all goes sideways.” Dean steps back from where he’s inscribed the summoning symbols on the wall. “Ok, you got a name for Gabe?”

Sam flips towards the back of the book he’s holding, looking for the chart of archangels and their sigils. Sam freezes when he finds it. “This is the symbol from my dream the other day. The weird one?” He studies it closer, trying to remember the exact symbol he saw in his dream. “Cas, which book did you shove that napkin in?”

“The Key of Solomon, it was on top. What is weird?” Cas and Jess scramble over to them.

Sam points at the sigils listed for Gabriel. “The one from my dream. It was this but… different.”

Cas closes his eyes for a moment before using the chalk in his hand to draw the sigil from Sam’s dream in the name place for the summoning. He steps back, looks between the book and the wall. “They’re both for Gabriel. This one… has had elements to ensure he hears you?” At their blank look, Cas sighs. “Think of it as turning up the volume on your phone when you change ringtones. He’s not responded to his name in a very long time after all.”

“Huh.” Dean shrugs and pulls out a book of matches. “Might as well get this show on the road then.” Lighting the matches, he tosses them into the battered copper bowl and takes a step back.

A flash of light and a momentary wave of pressure. Moments later, there’s slow clapping from the entrance to the warehouse behind them.

“Well done, fellas. Sure took you long enough.” Sam watches as the newcomer saunters towards them, pulling a sucker from his pocket. Unwrapping the sucker, Gabriel uses it to point at Sam and Dean. “You two… what did you two do to yourselves?” He sounds puzzled and angry.

“Uh… if it worked right, we made it so no angel can use us as vessels?”

Gabriel blinks, hesitates. “Oh, it _worked_. I’m not even sure a ghost could get in that tight ass now. Where the hell did you dig up that spell? Could have sworn we destroyed it.”

“Uh… the Vatican, kinda.”

“Gonna have to do something about that. Can’t have every Tom, Dick, and Harry cutting us off.” He snaps his fingers and a chair appears. “Let’s dish about what’s happening here.” In a split second, all his laughing affability is gone. What remains is, undoubtedly, the strongest supernatural creature they’ve ever seen. “You four are in big trouble. Not going along with the plan? Killing off major players before they can complete their tasks? Tsk Tsk.”

“The plan was dumb.” Jess jerks her thumb towards Sam and Dean. “Seriously, expecting those two to sit back and take it?” She grins fiercely, baring her teeth. “Has anyone in charge of this bullshit even looked at them?”

Gabriel laughs, leans back in his chair, and the implicit threat has disappeared again. “I like you. Sam, you should keep her.”

“That is the plan,” Sam says stiffly.

“Holy Dad, would you guys please sit down before you fall down?” Four more chairs suddenly appear, cozy armchairs that Sam loves instantly. “So what’s your plan?”

Sam sucks in a breath, glancing over at Dean. “Current plan? Get Mary to show up, ground everyone, kick the problem down the line.”

Gabriel snorts. “Good luck with that. She’s not shown up since…” he pauses for a moment to think, “...the sixteenth century. Thereabouts. She took a walk when Dad did.”

“Any _helpful_ ideas?” Jess asks. “Or is your ‘help’ going to be sitting around whining.”

“Nope.” Gabriel pulls his sucker from his mouth with a pop. “That’s interfering.”

“Oh, fuck that.” Cas tosses a water bottle to the side. “What if she _doesn’t_ show, Brother? What if she’s ready for the apocalypse as well, ready to spend time with her son that doesn’t have a constant pressure of prayers for intervention behind it?” He leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees. “Will you abandon us then? Like you abandoned Heaven, like you abandoned all the angels who followed you?”

Gabriel rears back, hurt splashing across his face before it clamps down. “Castiel, you overstep yourself.”

“And I am no longer Castiel. I followed your example, followed what was right.” Cas’s voice is tight with anger and hurt. “And was banished for it. It’s just Cas now. Will only _ever_ be Cas.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watches Dean’s hand creep across the space between his and Cas’s chairs, gently touching Cas’s arm before sliding down to intertwine their fingers. Dean murmurs something, too quiet for Sam to pick up, but a bit of the tension slides out of Cas, whatever Dean said. Jess looks like she wants to offer her support too, but thinks better of getting out of her chair.

Sam settles for glaring at Gabriel. “I have no idea what your plan is, what it ever was. But if you actually value humanity? Get off your fucking ass. Or there won’t be a humanity for you to value.”

“I won’t kill my brothers. I can’t. The apocalypse? Bullshit.” Gabriel shrugs. “This is Sunday dinner.” He sighs. “I’ll talk to them, see if we can turn this around, if Mary doesn’t show up.”

Sam breathes out a sigh of relief. “That’s all we can ask.”

Gabriel nods, looks around at the four of them. “Right. When will all this be going down?”

Sam shrugs. They’ve not really discussed it, but there’s really no reason to wait. “We have no idea how many seals have broken.”

Gabriel snorts out a laugh. “You really have been working blind here, haven’t you? The seals are _gone_ , kids. Lilith was killed by one of her followers this morning. Even Dad didn’t expect them to go that quick.”

Dean jumps to his feet. “ _What?_ ”

“Lucifer walks the Earth. Best get a move on.”

Dean turns to face Sam, “We’ve got everything right? For summoning Mary?”

Sam shrugs. “Assuming the color matters more than how it was made, yeah.”

Grimacing, Dean does some sort of mental arithmetic and doesn’t like the number he comes up with. “Blue cloth, lilies, incense. Should have all that in the car. But where?” He pauses, shakes his head. “Let’s make it easy for her to hear us. Cas, nearby places the veil is thin?”

Cas tilts his head, hopefully following Dean’s logic because Sam got lost a couple steps ago. “One of the sects of Christianity believes Jesus will return to Earth about ten miles east of here.”

“Where?” Sam asks, trying to pull up a mental map of Kansas City. They never spent a lot of time here-- too close to Lawrence for Dad-- but he could have sworn he knew all the major tears in the veil in the midwest.

“One of the churches in the suburbs built a temple on it.”

“[The Jesus slide](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Independence_Temple)?” Sam looks at Cas. “They were right?”

“No. But the founder did correctly feel the thinness there.”

“Huh.” Dean glances around. “Lets get picked up and break into a church.”


	13. Chapter 12

Summoning Mary is a hodgepodge ritual of half a dozen different cultures and languages. It’s the most haphazard thing Sam’s ever put together. But it should work.

That it should work is barely a comfort, what if it doesn’t? What if it harms Jess in the process? What if they get a completely different goddess, one who has no interest in this fight?

As soon as they’re parked outside the church, Sam bolts from the car. He feels sick, grease and pain and worry combining with (yet another) incipient headache to have him retching in the bushes.

He wipes his mouth and makes his way back to the car, silently accepting the water bottle Jess hands him to rinse. “Sorry.”

Jess does not roll her eyes, but he can tell it takes effort. “Like you’ve not done this every time I get into a fight or a car wreck.”

Dean smiles from where he’s leaning on the car, “He’s always done it. I had to stop telling him when I had tests for school because otherwise he’d be up all night puking.”

“Dean--”

“I’m your big brother. Be glad there aren’t photos.” Dean pauses for a moment, thinking, “Actually, I think Bobby still has some of your school photos. We should go up and see him after all this.”

Sam shakes his head, silently relieved that Dean’s sticking with the relatively harmless stories. After eighteen years of living in each others pockets, Dean has far worse stories he could pull out.

Cas is silently hovering off to one side, watching the church. Tilting his head to the side, he seems as baffled by the giant corkscrew topping the building as Sam was the first time they’d driven through Independence. “I do not understand the purpose of this building. If Jesus does return, He will not require mechanical assistance in reaching Earth.”

Dean pushes away from the car, clapping Cas on the shoulder as he passes him, before opening the trunk. “No one understands, Cas. But it’s pretty entertaining imagining it.”

Sam rolls his eyes and grabs the duffle bag of supplies-- mostly salt and holy water-- and a shopping bag with the stuff they picked up on the way. Dean grabs a second bag of more gear.

Dean leads them towards a side door. He makes quick work of the lock and they’re all inside within moments. Jess scouts ahead, trying to find a meeting space that can be locked from the inside.

They finally find a space in a sub-basement, in a music rehearsal room of some sort. It’s not a big room, and the piano and a dozen chairs clustered in rows next to an industrial wardrobe with choir robes tucked inside.

Dean drops his share of the gear with a clatter.

* * *

 

Sam winces, they’ve still not seen anyone and he’d like to keep it that way. “Hey, Dean? Why don’t you and Cas go find some more holy water. I don’t think we have enough.”

Dean looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Not enough… Sam, we toted in damn near two gallons.”

“Dean.” Sam stares at him and then glances over to Jess. “You and Cas should go get some more holy water. Or candles. Or see if you can keep anyone from this end of the building.”

Dean opens his mouth, looks at Jess and then Cas, and closes it. “Oh. Yeah. We’ll go do that.”

Rolling his eyes at Dean’s awkward exit, Sam wraps his arms around Jess, leaning his forehead against hers. “Just… hold on for a moment, yeah?”

Jess nods, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I got this. Stop worrying about me.”

“Never.” Another quick kiss. “I just... after this is all over. If you want to hunt full time, we’ll hunt full time. If you want to do it part time, and work at your firm part time, we can do that too.”

“You hate living like this.”

“Yeah, but… I love you more. Maybe with you, it’ll be different. I just… I want to marry you and have a life together. The details…” He shrugs.

Jess reaches up to wipe her eyes and then Sam’s. “Alright, you ass. Stop being sappy before your brother gets back. Otherwise, he’ll stop being sappy over his angel.”

Sam quirks a smile, leaning back. “I always knew when he fell, he’d fall hard.”

Jess snorts and they move to the chairs, waiting for Dean and Cas to get back with the unnecessary holy water.

Dean and Cas don’t bring back any holy water, or candles. When Sam raises an eyebrow, Dean shrugs, “There’s no way we didn’t bring enough. Easier to stick a broom through a set of door handles leading towards this end of the basement and make sure that no one can interrupt.”

“Right.”

Dean and Jess start moving chairs to the edges of the room, clearing a space on the floor for Cas and Sam to draw the design they’d come up with, checking and rechecking each sigil, spiral, and squiggle. It’s rough, mostly guesswork for what will resonate with Mary, Cas using a sharpie to mark each aspect before Sam comes through and redoes it with paint.

They’re probably being overly cautious, but Sam’s more than willing to be cautious, to double check each step. It is not, after all, uncommon for summonings that go wrong to backfire spectacularly, at _best_ killing only the caster. Jess's life is the one at stake here, be careful, be observant, be slow if that’s what it takes.

Sam and Cas fall into a couple of chairs at the edge of the room, watching Dean help Jess finish her preparations, murmuring instructions to her, too quiet for Sam to hear. Jess nods at something Dean says and turns, taking careful steps through the circle to avoid smudging any wet paint. She holds a bronze bowl with most of the offerings with a blue overshirt to use as an altar cloth. “Ready,” she says calmly.

Sam reaches up and flips the lightswitch, plunging the room into near darkness when Jess reaches the center, resuming his prayer/plea to please keep her safe. At this point, he doesn’t really even know who he’s praying to: Mary herself, Gabriel, any saint he can think of (Nicholas? He was a saint, right, of thieves or something? Well, they’re stealing all sorts of things right now).

Candles lit, some herbs and oil tossed into the bowl, a bit of ancient Hebrew (learned phonetically in a frantic ten minutes when they realized that Latin was probably too risky). A puff of smoke when Jess tossed a match into the bowl and then…

nothing.

No dramatic success or failure, just the four of them watching a tendril of white smoke wind its way up.

* * *

 

Dean calls it, after five minutes of waiting, “It didn’t work. Or she’s not coming.” He sighs. “Either way, we’re up shit creek.”

Sam’s sure his face mirrors the others’ disappointment, all of them trying to hide it while working out the next step.

Cas slowly shakes his head. “I don’t… she should have answered. What other cause for Her to intervene if not this one? I don’t…” He trails off, head hanging. Dean drops an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

Sam draws Jess out of the circle, wrapping his arms around her from behind, both of them watching the smoke. Jess stays for a moment, before pushing herself back up straight, forcing Sam to go with her.

Surveying the mess, she swallows, “You three go… do plan B. I’m going to stick around here, go back over everything.”

Sam kisses her cheek. “Stay safe.” He doesn’t say what they’re all thinking: she’s probably going to be the only survivor. Without Mary, they have no leverage over the archangels. He hugs her tightly, burying his nose in her hair and breathing deeply, trying to breathe her into his soul.

She turns to face him, amusement dancing across her face. “Sap. You’ll be fine,” before kissing him softly.

“Let’s go.”

Dean’s face falls even further, but he nods. “Yeah.”

Cas inhales sharply, but says nothing, dropping his knife into his hand. Dean unsheathes a silver knife and glances around. Sam unlocks the door and pulls his gun from the back of his pants.

“Lock the door after us.”

“Sam. I’m not going to sit here and wait to die.”

“Just in case security comes through.” Unbidden, “I love you,” slips out as he crosses the threshold.

She smirks as she crosses the room to close the door after them. “I know.” The lock thunks into place.

They’ve barely made it five steps before Gabriel appears in front of them, “So… that’s a no go on the mom front then? Well then, next plan.” He unwraps a new sucker-- blue this time-- and shoves it his mouth before snapping his fingers.

A pair of handcuffs drops around Sam’s wrists and his gun disappears. Dean squawks next to him, hands empty and handcuffed behind him. Cas just looks resigned like he expected Gabriel to pull something like this.

Dean yanks furiously on the chain connecting the cuffs. “Gabe! What the hell, man?”

“You’ll make great bargaining chips with my brothers.” Gabriel shrugs. “We tried it your way. It failed. Now I’m going to protect what’s mine for as long as I can. And with both of the Winchesters in my hands? That’s a _really_ long time.”

Dean lapses into an angry silence, pulling at his cuffs.

Sam watches him for a second, sees the fractional pause in Dean’s movements where he’s found a weakness he can exploit if they can buy enough time. “Sure. Protecting what’s yours. Of course. Because that’s what you did when you ran away from Heaven and the fighting there.” He pushes out a sigh, “Take advantage where you can. Why Cas though?”

Gabriel sounds pained. “Because a quick death as a excommunicant is better than what’s going to happen if Michael and Lucifer get their prize fight.”

“And what are your _brothers_ going to do when they realize we can’t be used as vessels anymore? We locked them out, remember?”

“That’s their problem, not mine. You have alternates. Not as well suited-- actually, they’re likely to explode the moment they say yes-- but they’ll do.” Gabriel looks smug for a moment before snapping his fingers again.

Sam stumbles, nearly falling to his knees at the sudden location shift. Instead of a drab church basement, they’re standing at the gates of a rundown cemetery, bright summer sun beating down on them. Raising his hands to shield his eyes, Sam digs his thumbs into his temples, trying to relieve the building pressure.

It doesn’t work.

This all started with a migraine, and-- as two men step out of thin air on the far side of the cemetery-- it’s increasingly looking like it’s going to end with one too. Sam risks a glance up to read the sign above the gate: Stull Cemetery. He’s heard of it before, but he can’t place it, not with a headache starting up.

Invisible fingers dig into Sam’s back, poking and prodding him towards the gate, only easing up when they’re inside the fence. Sam stays close to Dean and Cas, avoiding Gabriel and the newcomers both.

One of the strangers looks familiar, even when silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. Sam staggers to a halt about twenty feet away, Dean bumping into him. Sam can barely feel Dean’s fingers dip along the edge of his back pocket, carefully lifting the paperclip Sam carries there.

He blinks rapidly, trying to get his eyes to hurry up and adjust. It takes a moment for Sam’s brain to catch up with who he’s seeing at the top of the rise, years of absence making it hard to place. “Dad?” Dad’s dead, it can’t be him.

The voice that responds certainly isn’t him. Deeper than Dad’s, more formal. “Michael.”

They’re close enough now that Sam can see the subtle differences, his posture, the lack of motion. Dad’s just a meatsuit, and a poorly fitting one at that.

Sam looks over at the stranger and sucks in a breath. The Lawrence newspaper only ran one article about the deaths of Samuel and Deanna and with it, a single photo. Apparently, the staring role of Lucifer is going to be played by Samuel Campbell.

Before he can say anything, he, Dean and Cas are shunted to the side by Gabriel.

Gabriel pushes past them, clapping sarcastically. “Michael. Lucifer. I’m glad you found vessels you could use. I was starting to get concerned.”

Lucifer clenches his fist, weeping sores appearing and disappearing across his face and neck in a slow wave. “Brother. You have stolen our true vessels. Return them so we can end this farce.”

Behind him, Sam hears the near silent click of Dean slipping his handcuffs. Great. Dean’s free, leaving just him and Cas handcuffed and with no weapons.

Gabriel skips back a step, raising his fingers. “Now, now, Luci. You won’t steal my prizes from me. If you want your vessels--” he makes an obvious point of looking Michael and Lucifer up and down, “--your _true_ vessels, you’ll have to make a deal.”

Dean edges in front of him, holding his hands as if they were still handcuffed, carefully passing the paperclip to Sam.

Sam’s not picked a lock in years and he has to concentrate far harder than he should to get the correct combination of pressure in two directions. He misses most of Gabriel’s demands in exchange for handing them over, catching only something about undisputed control of Australia.

“My terms or you can fuck a goat.” Gabriel shrugs. “The epic showdown might need to happen, but it doesn’t need to happen here or now.”

As soon as Sam’s cuffs click open, there’s a familiar weight in his pocket, the Colt rematerializing from where ever Gabriel had stashed it. Sam’s eyes widen and he meets Dean’s glance. Dean nods slightly. That’s two of them armed, even if Dean’s knife is completely useless in this situation. He passes the paperclip back to Dean, shielding him as Dean quickly pops Cas’s cuffs. A quiet gasp from Cas, presumably his angel blade dropping back into his sleeve or pocket.

As soon as they’re all free, they spread out, trying to surround Michael and Lucifer in the middle.

Lucifer stiffens. “Gabriel, what…”

Sam doesn’t hesitate, pulling the Colt from his pocket and shooting him in the head. The shot is loud, breaking the sound of rushing wind.

Lucifer stares at him. “Ow.” Reaching up, he rubs idly at the hole-- which doesn’t even have a blood trail-- and chuckles. “That was a very good shot, Sam. However, there are about five things in the entire universe that gun can’t kill-- And I’m one of them.” The hilt of Dean’s knife suddenly protrudes from Lucifer’s chest, wobbling slightly.

Lucifer sneers, yanking the knife out and dropping it on the ground.

“Shit,” Dean says quietly.

“Did you really expect that to work?” Lucifer laughs, waving a hand and sending Dean flying. “Nothing on this field can kill me.”

Behind him, Gabriel snaps his fingers before flicking a lit match at the back of Lucifer’s head.

Cas tackles Sam and Dean to the ground as Lucifer goes up in flames, screaming as blue-white light streams out of Samuel’s mouth. Sam takes a breath, trying to understand what is going on, before the light surrounds him, demanding entrance.

Lucifer’s voice is fingernails on chalkboard in his ears, screeching, “What have you done?”

Sam scrambles to get his hands over his ears, but it doesn’t help. “Fuck you,” he screams back. Tendrils scrabble at his mind, trying to find purchase. The pathways aren’t smooth-- the human mind will never be smooth-- but the tendrils are the wrong size-shape, and cannot latch on. And then the light-- _Lucifer--_ is blown away. He hovers, an amorphous blob, to the side, impotent and powerless.

Ignoring Cas where he kneels over them in the scrubby grass, Dad, no, _Michael_ stalks towards Dean, and reaches up to grab his head. Bright light streams out of his palm, Dean screws his eyes shut, grimacing and grunting with strain. But he bears it, and the light fades after a second or two, Michael dropping his hand and staring at Dean in shock. “There is nothing to keep you from me. You are _mine_.”

Dean pauses, tilts his head. “No. I’m not.”

“I will not allow you to harm these boys.” Cas’s hand slams on the ground. Something on the ground flares red and Sam flinches, but nothing happens. Cas looks up into Michael's face, glaring, and drops his blade into his hand.

Gabriel steps over Dean’s prone form and pushes Michael a few steps away. “Not going to happen, Cas, not like this.” Gabe turns to look at Michael, “You and I need to have a talk.” Gesturing at their surroundings, Gabriel sounds very clearly upset. “This? This was not Dad’s plan. Working with _Lucifer_?”

Sam gestures for Dean and Cas to move back while Gabriel distracts Michael. He tries to be subtle when moving, not wanting to attract attention, but he has no idea how successful he is.

Dean doesn’t even bother with the pretense, climbing to his feet before almost running to get away from the growing fight before Gabriel and Michael can come to blows. Gabriel moves at the same time, forcing Michael to turn with him, keeping Sam and Dean out of his sight. It’s cleverly done, Sam can admit, almost enough to convince him that Gabriel was serious earlier, he doesn’t want the Earth destroyed.

Michael apparently had quite a list of grievances with Gabriel, currently bitching about how, exactly, Gabriel had chosen to deliver his messages.

“You were _naked_ , Gabriel. Naked! Telling a child that his line would continue to the end of days!”

Gabriel shrugs, not looking the least bit repentant, “He was a brat. And you and he interrupted my day. Of course I was naked. I was getting to know a giant’s daughter.”

Sam can see Gabe waggling his eyebrows even from ten feet away. He rolls his own eyes and mutters to Dean, “At least all the times I interrupted you, they were human.”

Dean thinks for a moment, glances over at Cas. “Mostly.”

Sam’s response gets cut off by Michael’s shouting about missed reviews, skipped meetings, disappearing to live among the heathens for nearly two thousand years. For the most part, Gabriel simply smirks and stays silent, but it’s plenty obvious when Michael steps over the line. “Two thousand years, fathering monsters. Tell me, Brother, while whoring yourself out to find a way to free Lucifer, did you at least restrain yourself enough to avoid birthing nephilim?”

“You think _I_ did this?” Gabriel takes a step back and then a second, his face falling. “You, who sent the Righteous Man to Hell to break the first Seal.” He gestures, wildly, at Sam and Dean. “You’re wearing their _father_ , because you jumped the gun.” Gabriel sighs, all anger leaving his voice. “I left. I left because of shit like this. Because everytime we got together, for millennia, it was you and Lucifer fighting, with Raphael nodding along like a doll. I quit. I completed the last task Dad left for me and then I left. Which, ya know, just as well, because Dad followed.”

Sam watches as Cas glances around, looking puzzled, before sliding in front of them.

“Cas?” Dean hisses, but he doesn’t get a response before a giant weight drops on all them, completely immobilizing them.


	14. Chapter 13

A severe looking black woman appears, standing primly near Michael and Gabriel and glancing around. She glares at Sam from across the cemetery, like he’s dog shit attached to her shoe.

At the same time, Lucifer reverses course and is sucked back in. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, but doesn’t appear to be able to move any further than that.

Sam shifts as far as he can, pulling the Colt back out of his pocket. “Dean, Cas? Any ideas?”

He can’t read Cas very well, but he is always willing to fill in the blanks. “There are not many who can compel archangels to do their bidding. This? This is the work of one of them.”

Dean snorts. “Well, yeah. But which one?”

“If I had to guess, I would assume the one we recently tried to summon,” Cas snarks. “But why would she wait?”

A massive explosion tears the air, a comet landing between the groups, plowing a grave deep hole that stops just short of the rubble. Abruptly, the pressure keeping them all in place lets up and Sam is able to move again.

“My guess?” Dean says. “That.”

Sam reaches forward, slapping Dean’s calf. “C’mon, Dean. Help me up.”

Dean bends down and has a shoulder under Sam’s arm when he stops, staring at the girl following the trench. Sam’s about to say something when he looks up.

Oh.

Oh. _Jess_.

Jess climbs out of the hole. Except it’s _not_ Jess. She’s some foreign entity, moving around in Jess like a puppet, awkward and gangly, his blue flannel pulled on over her tank top.

Sam can’t breathe.

Dean moves his head beside him, Sam can’t tell if he’s recoiling or shaking his head or nodding or what. “Hey, Sam. Come on. Keep moving.”

On autopilot, Sam takes Dean’s hand, allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Silently, Cas moves to Dean’s other side, covering their weak side as if they’ve done this hundreds or thousands of times.

Staring at Jess's back, Sam has no idea what to do, how to save her. What had Cas said? Possession is like being chained to a comet, burning the vessel up from the inside. Well, he certainly got the comet part correct.

Sam closes his eyes, shifting his weight.

Mary has turned away from the three of them, facing the four archangels, tsking softly, clearly audible over the unnatural silence that’s enveloped the graveyard.

She starts speaking quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard-- not that Sam can understand them. Cas looks towards the angels in front of them and around the cemetery as she continues speaking. After a moment, he nods and steps between them, carefully resting his hands on their shoulders. He whispers, “This is temporary, but should help you understand.”

The words continue to be garbled for a moment before settling into English. “You four have certainly made a mess.” Her cadence is odd, her mouth not quite fitting the syllables, but it’s clear enough

Mary’s voice rises as she warms to her topic, sounding more sure of herself. “Lucifer, you shouldn’t even be on Earth. And what did you promise to get a vessel? To bring a dead man’s daughter back?” She waves her hand and Lucifer is just… gone, a small pile of ash where he had been sitting.

Sam’s mouth drops open. All the trouble and effort to avoid Lucifer and Mary waves him away like nothing.

It’s easier, when Mary isn’t trying, to see that it’s not Jess. To see the strangeness in her movements. At the same time, there’s still something of Jess left in the way she rolls her eyes at the angel’s outrage.

“He’s fine. Just put back in his cage. Where he should have stayed.” She waves her hand loosely. “And you three! What are you _doing_? Jump starting the end of days because you can’t find your dad?”

Michael draws himself up to his full height, doing his best to loom over Mary. “Father left instructions--”

“I saw those instructions, Michael,” Mary cuts him off. “And I saw the revised ones when he was preparing to leave. Your father walked away over a millennia ago because humanity was doing what he wanted. Free will, remember? Apparently it’s time to have a chat.” She sighs and drops to the ground gracelessly. “Raphael, heal that young man.” She demands, pointing at Sam. “I promised his fiancee that he will survive this.”

Sam swallows as the angel advances on him, raising a hand to hover over Sam’s head. Sam flinches away before he forces himself to stand still. There’s a light tap on his forehead before the pain is gone, his head feeling better than it has in days. Sam swallows again, biting back the instinctive ‘thank you’ until Raphael has stepped back several paces.

Gabriel smirks as the two groups separate again, snapping up another motley bunch of chairs. “C’mon everybody. It’s group therapy time!”

Sam thinks they probably look ridiculous to any outside eye- the chairs are completely out of place in a cemetery, folding chairs, recliners, and kitchen chairs- but judging by Gabriel’s face, he’s just waiting for someone to comment. When no one rises to the bait, Gabriel slouches back looking vaguely disappointed.

It takes a few minutes of shuffling for everyone to find a seat that suits them. Mary looks like a queen, even perched on the edge of an ugly orange armchair straight out of the seventies and waiting for them to get their acts together.

Dean spends too long trying to decide who he needs to protect more, Sam or Cas. Sam makes the decision for him, pushing Cas into an empty chair next to Dean and taking the one on Cas’s other side so they’re flanking him.

Michael and Raphael claim the mismatched kitchen chairs while Gabriel lounges on a chaise, popping the occasional miniature candy bar into his mouth.

In the end, the seating arrangements are clearly humans (and near human) versus Heaven, with Sam, Dean and Cas even moving their chairs away from the circle a bit. It’s not much, Sam knows, to signify what is obvious to everyone, but the symbolism is important sometimes.

And if Sam cuts his hand on a sharp spot of his folding chair and starts to paint a banishing sigil on the back of Cas’s chair, well, what the angels don’t know won’t hurt them. He keeps it small, sketching it lightly on the painted wood. Hopefully, he’s being overly cautious, but Sam’s not going to risk it. If this stupid disaster is going to take Jess from him, he’s going to fuck it up right back. Dean leans back once, a quick look to see what Sam’s doing, before he faces forward and does the best attempt at worshipful attention Sam has ever seen.

Michael tries to take charge immediately. “We know our mission. Killing Lucifer is the next step.”

Mary stares at him. “Your father changed the plan before he took off. Your brother, humanity, all of it, was him changing the plan. If you don’t like the new plan, you can take it up with him.”

Raphael sneers. “Father cannot be found. Free will is an illusion. Humanity has failed the experiment.”

Dean’s voice is deceptively quiet, “How did we fail the experiment? Because we didn’t follow along with your little plan? Guess what, sister? Triumph of free will.”

Mary nods before turning to Gabriel. “What do you think, Gabriel?”

“Oh, I don’t care anymore.” He makes a tossing motion, a tennis ball falling back into his hand. “I ran off to join the heathens, remember?” Gabriel sneers at Michael. “Fathered monsters. Loved humanity in all its inventiveness, corrected when someone got too big for their britches. Mostly because it amused me.”

Cas makes a small noise beside Sam, his face falling. “We followed you.”

Mary cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “It doesn’t matter, Castiel.” She sighs, rubs her temples. “Michael, Raphael, if you’re so concerned about what your dad wants, _go find him_. This is…” She trails off.

“This is bullshit.” Sam pushes himself to his feet and starts pacing. “You’re burning the house down to get Dad’s attention. Great. I understand the impulse. Our dad never stuck around either. What are you going to do when that’s done?” He looks Michael and Raphael square in the eyes. “He doesn’t care. _So stop acting like five year olds._ ” Sam drops his hand to the banishing symbol, hoping his finger is still bleeding enough to activate it.

It is. Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel all disappear, a wash of wind and light blasting across the graveyard while Mary barely looks ruffled. Sam winces.

Mary sighs and pushes herself to her feet to meet him in the center. “That was unnecessary, Sam. No one here meant you any harm.”

“Right.” Sam scoffs. “An angel riding around in my father, another angel in my grandfather, a… demigoddess?... in my fiancee. No reason for us to feel threatened at all.”

“I have done nothing but what Jessica asked and reined in my stepchildren.” Mary sighs mournfully. “What has been done is done. In the meantime, the apocalypse is merely paused, not ended.”

Dean stands up to start pacing as well, “So, what? This is just going to keep flaring up every few years until God decides to show up?”

Mary shrugs, “I am on humanity’s side, Dean. But I cannot hope to control all of Heaven in His absence. I don’t intervene for a reason. I’m _limited_ , granted power only through prayer.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Well, I guess they should go find Dad then, if no one else can tell them to fuck off permanently.”

Gabriel steps out from behind Mary’s chair, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Glad you guys agree.”

Sam whips around. “What the everlasting fuck?”

Gabriel waves it off, “It doesn’t matter. While we were banished, Michael and I had a chat. He claims that Hell made the first moves for this particular go round. He didn’t want to start shit, but felt he had to respond.” He shrugs at their skeptical looks. “I’m not saying I believe him. But I certainly wouldn’t put it past some of the toads in both Heaven and Hell to have just started things to entertain themselves.”

Cas draws himself up, beginning to protest. “No one would work with Hell for such a purpose. We have our duties.”

Dean looks over at him, smirking, “Cas, you got bored with your duty and decided to save humanity. You have no idea what everyone else might be doing.”

“Anyway,” Gabriel interrupts. “Michael and Raphael are going to look into cleaning house. That should take a century or two. And then, maybe, they’ll go find Dad. I mean, there’s still prophets, so he’s around somewhere.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah. Try New Mexico. Heard he’s on a tortilla.”

“Eh, we’ll let them figure it out. I mean, it’s possible they can just pop down to Earth, scare the bejesus out of--” Gabriel pauses, counts on his fingers before looking at Cas. “Are we on Chuck or Kevin?” Before Cas can respond, Gabriel continues, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. They’ve got their little project, which should keep them busy for a while.”

“And you, Gabriel?” Mary cocks her head. “What are you going to be doing?”

“Eh, I figured I’d keep doing what I’m doing. They’re making a movie about me, ya know. And I’m keeping busy, teaching jackasses to be decent human beings.”

Mary nods. “See to it that you stay out of trouble.” She pauses, stands. “Do something about Sam’s demon problem and Castiel before you leave.”

“Wait, what?” Dean darts forward, but before he can reach her, Mary’s head snaps back and light streams from her mouth.

Sam doesn’t need Cas’s warning. He pushes Dean out the way, catching Jess as she sags and starts to fall to her knees. Sam follows, cushioning her body with his own, burying his face in her neck, waiting for the light to dissipate.

He has no idea how he’s going to deal with losing Jess. Cas said it felt like being chained to a comet, and Jess hadn’t been prepared from birth to house someone else. If he doesn’t open his eyes, Jess is fine, for another few moments.

He barely hears Cas and Dean behind him, calling his name. They’ve saved the world, for now at least, they can give him five minutes with his grief.

Sam only realizes how melodramatic he’s being when Jess pushes him.

“Hey, jerk. How about letting me breathe?” She smiles and it’s undoubtedly Jess, not Mary, not someone else wearing her body. _Jess_.

“No way,” He breathes out. “I thought I lost you.” Sam leans back, tries to help her sit up and ends up falling over. He can hear Dean and Gabriel snickering behind him. Flushing, he makes sure Jess is stable before he shifts so his legs aren’t caught beneath him. “Fucking assholes. You could have told me.”

Cas offers him a hand up before crouching when Sam waves it away. “We did try. You were um… quite…”

“You were processing your sudden grief in a mature fashion.” Dean smirks. “Mostly by crying like you did that time you thought Batman could fly.” Dean’s hand lands on Cas’s shoulder

Sam reaches across the gap between him and Jess to take her hand. She’s safe. “You mean that time I _broke my arm_ and you took me to the ER on the handlebars of a stolen bicycle?”

Cas looks momentarily confused, reaching up to cover Dean’s hand with his own. “Emotional pain is just as damaging as physical pain, Dean. You know that.”

“You’re right, I do, angel.” Dean shifts his hand, pulling Cas to his feet, before moving over to Jess. “You gonna be alright, Jess?”

She pauses before responding, allowing time for Gabriel to cut in. “Of course she is. Jeez, why do you think I’m still here?”

Cas raises an eyebrow, “Because Mary ordered you to take care of Sam and myself before you leave?”

Sam squeezes Jess's hand before relinquishing it so Dean can pull her to her feet. Sam pushes himself up, glancing over where Gabriel is standing.

“I was going to stay anyway,” Gabriel says quietly.

Reaching for Jess, Sam pulls her back into his arms. There’s a brief moment when Sam considers offering up a heartfelt thank you to Heaven and everyone else. Then he looks towards the cemetery gate and realizes… they have no cars to get home. “Goddamnit.”

The peace shatters all at once: Dean notices that they’re stranded as soon as he follows Sam’s gaze.

“And that would be why,” Gabriel says smugly. “How else are you going to get home?”

Their phones suddenly start lighting up with missed texts and calls. They all twist around to look at Gabriel.

“That wasn’t me.” He raises his hands. “I’m not the one who cut you off from the outside world. That was totally Michael’s doing. You’re reconnected now, though.”

Jess nods. “I don’t even know where we are. One moment, I’m in the church basement rereading those translations and the next I’m on my knees in a graveyard.”

Sam winces. “Yeah… we’re in Stull Cemetery. In Kansas.”

“What, as in the Hellmouth?”

Sam gapes at Jess for a moment. “What?”

“Dude, there are a _bunch_ of movies and urban legends about this place. It’s supposed to be one of the gates to Hell. One of my friends in high school was obsessed with mapping them all, something about already living on top of one hellmouth, she didn’t want to move to another one.” Jess shrugs. “You just always seemed so uncomfortable with that sort of thing, I never brought it up.”

Gabriel and Dean are openly laughing at them and even Cas is chuckling. Sam and Jess manage to hold off for a moment before they’re laughing too, relief spilling over into near hysteria.

“Ok, kids. Let’s finish this up. I’ve got a couple jackasses in Ohio to prank.” Reaching over, Gabriel taps Sam’s forehead.

Suddenly, the low grade tension headache that Sam’s been carrying around for months, so constant he didn’t even bother mentioning it, is gone. All the other aches and pains are gone too.

Gabriel looks uncharacteristically sober when he drops his hand. “The clairvoyance is built into you, I can’t change it. But you should be able to see other things besides the end of the world now.” He frowns at Cas and then glances down at Dean and Cas’s joined hands. “Look, Castiel--”

“No. I made my choice. Rescind my banishment and I’ll be at peace.”

“You’re sure you don’t want…”

“I understand why Anael fell, why you left. Humanity in all its wonder.”

“Alright, bro.” Gabriel looks at Sam, Dean, and Jess before shrugging. “They’re human, but they’re witnesses.” Squaring his shoulders, he takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Castiel, you were unjustly cast out, and you shall be no longer. Be welcome in Heaven… when your human dies and you’re ready to join him as a soul.” He pauses. “Or something along those lines. Whatever.”

Gabriel doesn’t bother snapping his fingers this time. Sam blinks, there’s a shift in air pressure, and they’re back in Kansas City, standing next to the Impala where they’d left it hours before.

They’re all here, all healthy, or near enough. Sam’s not entirely certain what they’re going to do next, but there’s a next to get to. He pulls Jess back to him, unwilling to let go just yet, kissing her temple. “So. That happened. Still think I’m a catch?”

Jess chuckles. “Always.”

Dean unlocks the doors on his side of the car. “I hate chick flicks. Can we get a move on, please?”

Even Cas looks at him strangely for that one. “This is not a chick flick, Dean. This is your loved ones expressing their happiness in physical affection.” Dean tries to sputter out some response, but Cas cuts him off with a kiss. “I am also glad you survived.”

Everyone laughs, which Sam thinks was probably the point, before piling into the car. Catching a glimpse of the time, nearly eight o’clock, Sam realizes that he’s starving. Leaning forward from his place in the back seat, he slaps Dean’s arm. “Hey, Dean. Dean. Dean.”

“ _What_?”

“Barbeque. I’m hungry.”

Dean neatly reverses the car, navigates the parking lot, and pulls out into traffic before responding. “I don’t know, Sam. I’m not really all the hungry, and I thought you guys had something pressing in California?”

“Bullshit, you’re always hungry. And even if you weren’t, I’d make you stop anyway.” He sighs. “And California isn’t so pressing that a few hours are going to matter.”

Dean meets his eyes in the rearview mirror and suddenly, Sam realizes that Dean’s fucking with him.

“Cool your jets, Sam. I figured we’d be stopping for food, and far be it from me to tell my brother he can’t have the food he wants when we just saved the world.”

“Fuck you, Dean.” Sam settles back into his seat, taking Jess's hand when she slides it across the seat. “Find barbeque and feed us. It’s been too long of a day to deal with your bullshit.”

Dean chuckles and points the car into downtown Kansas City.


	15. Epilogue

_Nebraska, Early November 2006_

Sam climbs out of the passenger side of Jess's Jeep and stretches. As much as he agrees that if they’re going to be hunting, even part time, they need a car that is capable of carrying cargo (weapons, people, bodies), the Jeep just isn’t comfortable over long distances as the Impala.

The lights and noise of the Roadhouse spill out into the frozen parking lot as someone heads out. It’s not that cold-- mid-forties-- but compared to the overly warm car or southern California, it might as well be below freezing. Stretching, Sam reaches into the backseat to grab his jacket and the records of hunts they’ve done in the last couple of months.

Jess shivers as she comes around the front of the Jeep, shrugging into a zip-up sweatshirt. Pulling her hair free, she reaches for his hand, kissing his cheek when he catches up. “You ready for this?”

He squeezes her hand. “As long as they let us get inside before tackling us, yeah. Not sure I’m ready for tomorrow though.”

She snorts and leads the way into the Roadhouse.

There’s an explosion of sound as soon as they swing the doors open again. It’s a lot like an episode of Cheers, with about a quarter of the crowd greeting them. Ash waves at them from behind the bar, gesturing them towards a corner booth-- stuffed well beyond capacity-- where Dean and Cas are holding court.

Jess pries their notebook from his hand and peels off towards the back. She pauses at the door into the kitchen-- probably to make sure Ellen or Jo isn’t going to knock her over if she walks in-- and says something to Ash before ducking into the back.

“Sam!” Dean yells drunkenly and shoos a couple of hunters out of the way, trying to get out of the corner. “When’d you get here?”

Sam snorts as Cas reaches up to stabilize Dean’s drunken weave, holding him in place. “Just a couple minutes ago. We wouldn’t miss this.”

Cas grins up at him, “We appreciate you and Jess coming out.”

“Jess! Where’s your wife?” Dean demands as he falls back into his seat. “She’s outta your league, bro.”

Sam doesn’t have a chance to respond before Jess hands him a couple of glasses and over the table to give Cas and then Dean a hug. “And Cas is out of your league. Doesn’t stop him from sticking around.” She looks at the recently emptied end of the booth, shrugs and sits down.

Dean blinks at her. “You are _absolutely_ correct.”

The noise and conversation picks back up as Sam slips into the booth as well, sliding Jess's drink over to her. It’s a good crowd, mostly young hunters with a few of the old guard sitting with Bobby in another booth. Just like any other hunter get together, it doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to work, even though this is supposed to be a celebration.

It’s loud and confusing and everything Sam never had when he was younger.

The last hunter Elkins trained, Tracey, thinks she’s got a vampire nest setting up shop a couple towns over. Cas is bent over a piece of scrap paper with her, going over what to look for, where the lore is wrong. Dean and Jess have resumed their never ending engineering talk (tonight’s topic: is it possible to create an EMF meter that won’t give false positives with powerlines? Sam has no idea. He dutifully reads any emails they include him on, but their actual discussions are well beyond his ability to keep up.) Sam shrugs and turns around, comparing notes on how to convince witnesses to talk with Garth, one of Rufus’s proteges.

* * *

 

The next day dawns cold and bright. Somehow, Dean has avoided a hangover-- Cas doesn’t get them at all-- but they’re the only ones. Ellen and Jo grit their teeth through feeding everyone a greasy breakfast with liberal amounts of water and painkillers, before Sam, Jess, and Garth kick them out of the kitchen to do dishes.

By the time Sam reemerges, everyone’s in a much better mood, rushing around trying to prepare.

He holds Jess's hand throughout the wedding ceremony Bobby cobbled together from angelic and human sources. It’s pretty, in the ‘can’t understand half the words because he’s having trouble learning Enochian’ sort of way. It draws a crowd anyway, everyone from last night watching eagerly. Sam can feel extra eyes watching too-- invisible ones-- and the occasional rustle of something that might be feathers. It wouldn’t surprise him if a good portion of Heaven is watching with Gabriel’s assistance, regardless of Michael’s orders to the contrary.

Sam leans over to kiss Jess as soon as Dean and Cas are kissing. This isn’t the life he expected, but it works. They’re only hunting part-time, he’s got Dean back in his life. It’s worth it.


End file.
